Bruce Wayne and the Riddle of Ravenclaw
by Eric Fenton
Summary: Three years after the deaths of Bruce's parents his guardian and butler, Alfred Pennyworth, has moved the two to Britain hoping the change will cheer the boy up. One day Bruce receives an invitation to attend a prestigious school of magic and enters a completely new world. He will meet new friends and enemies as he learns how this world is different and how it is the same.
1. A Boy Who Lived

"Master Bruce? Master Bruce?" Alfred knocked on Bruce's door before he opened it and peered into the bedroom. Bruce was there, sitting on the edge of his bed and reading through an old textbook on criminology. Far too advanced for an eleven year old boy. He set it down carefully and turned to face Alfred.

Nearly three years after the funeral Bruce still wore only black. Hoping to relieve the boy's melancholy, Alfred had moved them both back to Britain. He'd hoped that the change of scenery and schools would restore Bruce's youthful spirit, but it seemed that nothing would ever alleviate what Bruce had seen in that alley.

"Letter for you, Master Bruce." Alfred handed over the thick parchment envelope. "It didn't arrive with the morning post and I don't recognize the seal. But it is clearly addressed to you." Quite ridiculously so, in fact. The front of the envelope specified not only the full address, but the floor of the building and which bedroom in their penthouse was Bruce's. How the sender knew that, and why he'd felt the need to specify it, Alfred couldn't imagine.

"Thank you, Alfred. I'll look through it." Over two years and Bruce still spoke with his American accent. When he spoke at all.

Alfred remained in the room, "Let's have a look together Master Wayne. Tell me what the letter says."

The letter turned out to be nothing more than a silly prank. It was odd how much effort the prankster had put into it, using actual parchment and a dip-pen along with a custom wax seal, not to mention the amount of detail involved. Alfred couldn't help but be a bit disappointed that Bruce had dismissed the letter so immediately. A boy that young should still have room for magic in his heart.

A joke it was, though, and so the parchment had found its way into the bin and out of their thoughts.

Until the next day, when Alfred heard a knocking at the balcony door.

There, standing patiently outside the sliding glass door, was a witch. Every bit the classic image of a witch, from her pointed hat to her green and black robes to the broomstick in her hand. All except for her perfectly straight-backed posture and her small, square framed glasses. Those made her look more a strict schoolmistress.

The witch knocked again.

Alfred opened the door in a daze and said the first thing that came to mind, "How now, you secret, black, and midnight hag! What is't you do?"

"A deed without a name," She replied in prim Scottish accent. "Now, are you going to invite me in, Thane of Glamis?"

Her response partially relieved his shock at seeing her outside the balcony door and he pulled it fully open and just managed to say, "Of course, please come in." He made space for her to step through the door. "Please set down your... broom," he gestured vaguely towards the the side of the doorframe while he stepped out on the balcony and looked around. Here was no harness, no cables, and no other sign that she had somehow lowered herself from the roof. How had she gotten here?

"What are you looking for, Thane of Cawdor?" The witch smiled softly as she set her broomstick down just inside the door.

"Madam, forgive me, but how in the world did you get up here? This balcony is two hundred feet up, if it is an inch." Perhaps from the nearest window? Maybe in his prime he could have scaled that distance, but she didn't look to be so young and spry as that, and he'd never known anyone that could manage such a feat while wearing such a bulky outfit or carrying a prop.

She smiled again and picked her broom back up, "I think you've already answered your own question, sir. Now will you tell me your name, or should I just refer to you as 'King of Scotland' for the rest of the day? I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall, since you forgot to ask."

"Yes, of course, I apologize again, madam. My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I am Master Bruce's legal guardian." Alfred straightened his shirt and drew himself up. Her trick of getting up here might have him stumped, but she certainly wasn't going to have him looking the fool. "Do you truly expect me to believe you flew up here on a magic broomstick?"

In answer she simply tossed the broom onto the floor. Or, at least, she threw it towards the floor but it never arrived there. It stopped in midair about two feet above the tiles. On closer inspection it also didn't actually look very much like a broom. It had a handle and bristles, yes, but the bristles were stiff and swept in what someone clearly thought was a streamlined fashion and the handle was shaped nothing like a simple cleaning tool. It also had what looked like a bicycle seat and stirrups. It hovered there, apparently unconcerned with gravity, bobbing slightly up and down.

Alfred turned back towards the witch, but she was gone. Instead there was a large tabby cat sitting straight-backed on the bartop. A cat with distinctive square markings around its eyes very much like the glasses the witch had been wearing. It met his gaze and, if possible for a cat, raised its eyebrows.

"Can I assume this is related to the letter he received yesterday?" Alfred asked incredulously.

The cat nodded in reply.

This was quite the limit for Alfred Pennyworth, if this was a prank then it was the greatest prank of all time and there was nothing to do but go along with it. "Master Bruce," he called down the hall, "There's someone here to speak with you."

When Bruce came out to meet them he looked from Alfred to the still floating broom to the cat on the counter. The cat leapt off the counter but it was Professor McGonagall who ended up standing on the floor. How she had gone from one to the other Alfred couldn't quite fathom, even though he'd seen it with his own eyes. It clearly _had_ happened, in any event. Unless he was going completely and utterly mad. If that were the case then there was no harm in playing along.

Without pausing Professor McGonagall addressed Bruce, "Hello. I take it you're Mister Bruce Wayne." Bruce nodded silently. "You did read the letter I sent you yesterday saying to expect me?" He nodded again. "Well then, congratulations Mister Wayne. My name is Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm pleased to say you've been accepted as a student to Hogwarts. I hope you won't accuse me of boasting when I say that Hogwarts has one of the best reputations of all wizarding schools and that there's no finer place to study magic in the world."

Bruce looked silently from the witch to her broomstick, apparently at a loss for words to follow this statement. Alfred couldn't blame the boy, he'd been feeling much the same since the witch had appeared on the balcony. Professor McGonagall smiled again, apparently quite comfortable with their discomfort. "I do apologize gentlemen, the other professors and I have conversations like this one a few times a year when the acceptance letters go out. Let me address the most obvious things first, and you can let me know if you've any questions.

"Magic is real. For the most part we keep this fact, along with ourselves, hidden from the rest of the world. You'll learn the details of when and why behind this decision during your history classes, suffice it to say that pitchforks and torches were a big part of the motivation." She didn't fail to notice Bruce's worried look towards Alfred and quickly added, "We don't mind having some contact with the non-magical world, obviously, but if you go around announcing it to the general public you'll get in trouble with the Ministry."

Bruce nodded in understanding and she continued, "You, Mister Wayne, are a wizard. It's just something you're born as. Mostly it's passed down from one or both parents, but about one in every five Hogwarts students comes from non-magical parents." She shrugged, "Nobody's really sure why, it just seems to happen that way. In any event, you won't be the only one at Hogwarts who's never heard of magic before getting your letter. Once there you'll be taking classes with other young witches and wizards your age that will teach you how to use magic and introduce you to the wider world around it.

"Now if you have further questions." It was more statement that invitation, though she did wait for Bruce to slowly shake his head, "Good. There's a marketplace not far from here in London where you can get your school supplies. I'll show you way and help you find what you need."

Less than an hour later Professor McGonagall was leading the two of them through the streets of London. Despite her strange appearance nobody seemed to be paying her any particular attention. Indeed, although people parted to let her aside, they never actually seemed to notice or acknowledge her at all. As though they suddenly decided to step to the side for some other reason, blissfully unaware that they'd ever been blocking the witch's way. Bruce and Alfred simply followed behind her.

Eventually the three arrived at a small, dingy pub sandwiched between two larger stores. At least, that's what he thought it was. Alfred couldn't quite seem to focus on the pub. He'd see it for a moment, but almost immediately his gaze would slip to either side. If Professor McGonagall hadn't pointed it out he would never have noticed it in the first place. She led him and the boy through the pub's main room silently, nodding to the one-eyed bartender, and out to a small alleyway behind the pub and then to a flat, brick wall. There she paused and pulled a small rod from a pocket in her robes.

Alfred had thought he couldn't be any more astonished, but there it was: a wand. A magic wand. She had a magic wand in her pocket. And very soon Master Bruce would be purchasing his own. Master Bruce had been accepted into a school of magic and would grow up to be a wizard. That was quite a lot to accept in a very short span of time. His school things were going to include spellbooks and a magic wand, and his school uniform involved wizard's robes and a pointed hat. All that was on the second copy of the letter and the list of school supplies Professor McGonagall had handed him after she explained everything to Bruce earlier.

Professor McGonagall tapped the wand confidently on a brick that looked no different from any other. Immediately it began to quiver and after a moment it slid aside and then so to did its neighbors, until very soon there was a wide doorway next to the unattended rubbish bins where once there had been nothing.

Beyond the open portal was a marketplace like none that Alfred Pennyworth had ever seen, and he had seen some very unusual things in his time. As he continued to follow Professor McGonagall he saw the strangest assortment of wares and services on display. A window advertised sport racing broomsticks, next to that a shop promised joke custards that turn unsuspecting eaters into canaries, across the street from that a vendor sold beetle eyes by the scoop.

Not every customer or vendor in the market was definitely human, either. Alfred didn't have words for some of the individuals he saw, but it would be impolite to stare. He was relieved to see that Bruce had remembered that as well. The boy walked confidently, looking at everything but not gaping or staring. Good, now they were the ones who didn't fit in, there was no sense drawing further attention to themselves.

Obtaining the currency itself had been an experience. Converting Master Bruce's trust fund dollars into pounds was a simple matter. Getting enough cash in pounds, then converting it to the gold coins used here was another matter. They'd carried a not insubstantial amount of cash on their way here. The currency here made little sense and he was quite certain the moneychanger had overcharged him. At this point, though, Alfred had far larger concerns on his mind than haggling over exchange rates.

Unperturbed, their guide led them to a small shop that looked to have been recently renovated. The sign over the door proclaimed it "Olivander's: Makers of Fine Wands" and several wands sat in open boxes on display in the window.

Professor McGonagall opened the door and greeted the shop owner, "Mister Olivander, this is Mister Bruce Wayne. He'll be starting at Hogwarts this term and he'll need a wand."

Mister Olivander was a thin man who moved with the deliberate care of someone whose joints had begun to ache with age or old injury. He greeted Bruce in a kind, if absent minded sort of way, pulling a tape measure out a pocket. "Master Wayne, yes, no doubt we'll find the right wand. I've never yet failed to find the right match, though it's really the wand chooses the wizard, you know." He continued on, partially muttering to himself and partially talking to Bruce.

Professor McGonagall backed out of the way and stood by Alfred while the shopkeeper talked and measured Bruce's arm. "I suppose you purchased your own wand here?" Alfred said in an undertone.

"Oh yes, many years ago when I first started at Hogwarts."

Olivander moved over to one of the shelves and pulled down a box. With a start Alfred realized the tape measure was, of its own accord, still attempting to measure the size of Bruce's ears until Mr. Olivander snapped his fingers and it fell on the floor. He returned with a long thin box, which he opened to reveal a tapered shaft of wood. "Core of owl feather in maple. Springy, good for transfiguration." He handed the wand's handle to Bruce and encouraged him to wave the wand but, after Bruce had barely lifted it, snapped it out of his hand. "No good, I suppose." He returned the wand to its box, which he set aside, and found another. Three more went the same way as the first, before he again snapped his fingers and found a stepstool. From atop one of the overloaded shelves he pulled down a dusty box, which he wiped off with his sleeve.

"Never found the right owner for this one, I'm amazed it survived the fire." He pulled out a long piece of polished wood and held it up to examine it, "Batwing and American Chestnut, unusual combination and very hard to come by now." He handed the wand to Bruce and encouraged him to wave it. Bruce did so and immediately sparks flew from the end of the wand.

Moments later the wand was bundled up and paid for, though Alfred still had no idea whether it had been expensive or not, and Professor McGonagall was leading them to get Bruce's new school uniform. A shop called "Madame Malkins Robes for All Occasions" was, she assured them, the best place to do so, though Hogwarts students outgrew their often enough that there were also a number of second-hand shops. Bruce certainly had enough left from his parents for new, in any event.

Confident that Bruce was in good hands with the shopkeeper here, they left him while Professor McGonagall showed Alfred where they might find Bruce's schoolbooks. She also advised him that, if they so desired, he was permitted to bring a small pet with him, "The letter says a cat, frog, or owl; but we've made allowances for other small birds and for rats as well. Many students like having their own owl to deliver mail for them, but the school has its own they can use at any time."

"Professor, I wonder if I might buy you a drink at the pub before you leave. I'd like to speak with you about Master Bruce." If he was leaving the boy in her care she had better understand what that entailed.

"The boy's not a troublemaker is he?" She asked as they sat down at the small bar, "I can deal with troublemakers, I assure you, Mister Pennyworth."

From her expression and demeanor Alfred had no doubt about that, and he smiled at the image of Bruce Wayne engaged in conventional schoolboy troublemaking. "Madam, if you were to tell me that Master Bruce had..." he sought about for what trouble a boy at a magical school might get into, "...raided alchemy supplies as part of an elaborate revenge prank on another student, or had turned himself invisible to sneak into the upperclassmen changing rooms, or been caught out of bed at night to take care of an illegal pet dragon..." he paused as she laughed quietly at some private joke. Perhaps some students had done exactly those things. He finished, "If you were to write to tell me he had done those things I would reply with all my thanks and a home-baked pie." He took a deep breath as he imagined a more likely scenario, "If you told me that a bully threatened him and Master Bruce killed the other boy in self-defense, then I wouldn't be at all surprised."

Her eyes widened and her hand went to her lips in shock, "Mister Pennyworth..."

"Master Bruce is a good boy, but you need to understand what he's been through." Alfred took a long drink from the whiskey the one-eyed bartender had given him, interesting flavor, not entirely familiar. "I noticed that you never asked why I'm his legal guardian, or what became of his parents. It was in many American newspapers, but I doubt you would have heard about it here." Professor McGonagall shook her head, he took a deep sigh and began the story. "Thomas and Martha Wayne were the wealthiest family in Gotham City, and generally well liked. Martha Wayne headed several charities to benefit the city's poorer citizens and schools and Thomas Wayne ran a number of free clinics in the city's poorest neighborhoods.

"One day, about three years ago, the Monarch Theater in downtown Gotham did a showing of _The Mark of Zorro_ , at the time Master Bruce's favorite film. Thomas took the family out for the day, intending to end with the film. Thomas and Martha loved Bruce very much, but they were also very busy, and it meant a great deal to them to make this kind of time.

"After the film ended and they left the theater Thomas led his wife and son through a small alleyway along the side of the building, a shortcut to catch a taxi on the next block. That area of Gotham is notorious for its high crime rates, what Thomas was thinking I'll never know. A man approached them from a doorway with a gun in his hand. He demanded their wallet and jewelry. Thomas tried to comply, handing over his wallet and watch. Perhaps he made a sudden move or perhaps the man just panicked, or maybe he just wanted to kill them anyway, but he shot Thomas dead in the street. Martha screamed and he shot her, too.

"Then he turned the gun on Bruce. Perhaps to leave no witnesses or perhaps out of pure sadism, but something strange happened when he pulled the trigger. Instead of killing Bruce, the gun exploded in his hand. He dropped the twisted gun and ran off, holding his mangled hand in his good one, leaving behind him an eight year old boy and the bodies of his dead parents. He was picked up trying to get treatment for his battered hand with Thomas' wallet still in his pocket. Ironically he'd sought help at one of the free clinics Thomas Wayne had started."

Alfred looked down at his now empty glass, he'd barely noticed going through it. "The police say it was a squib load. Such things can happen, very rarely, when firearms are poorly maintained. A bullet becomes lodged in the barrel of the gun instead of firing. Bullets are propelled by an explosion and, if it can't force the bullet out, instead it goes backwards." He looked the Professor in the eye, "That's not what happened, is it?"

She lowered he gaze to her own drink and shook her head, "No, Mister Pennyworth, I think not. In times of stress young wizards and witches often use magic on accident. The results are sometimes random and dangerous, but usually it happens because of harmless childhood nonsense. With a weapon in his face I have no doubt that Bruce's magic would strike out to protect him. It's not something he could have had control over, or even known was happening."

That was what Alfred had thought, Bruce had never had any reason to believe his survival as more than an accident. "I think it best to remain that way. Bruce has spent years feeling guilt for asking his parents to that theater. If he believed there was any way he could have saved them..."

"There isn't any way, he'd have had no control over it."

"That wouldn't matter. He'd simply blame himself for his own lack of control." Alfred considered the possible outcomes, "I can't say he won't eventually figure this out himself, he's a clever child, but I'd rather you not suggest it to him. I moved him here to try to get him out of that alley, to try to help him move on from that night. Everything in Gotham reminded him of them, and everyone in Gotham wouldn't let him forget. He wasn't really Bruce Wayne in Gotham, he was just Thomas and Martha's son, a boy who shouldn't have lived."

She finally agreed not to say anything about their conversation, particularly that the gun's failure might have been caused by Bruce's magic protecting him, and Alfred paid the bartender for their drinks. She walked back with him to retrieve Bruce and his robes before taking her leave. "This is your train ticket, you'll see the time and platform number on it. To get into Platform 9-3/4 you simply walk into the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. Mister Wayne, I'll see you at Hogwarts at the start of term."

"Professor McGonagall?" Bruce spoke up, for the first time he had done so today without prompting. "I think I know what you and Alfred were talking about when you left. He was telling you about my parents, wasn't he? People keep saying I'm lucky to have lived, but I don't feel lucky."

She looked down at him, her serious expression matching his. "Mister Wayne, I've met other children who lived when their parents did not. I have never considered any of them 'lucky' for that." She looked back to Alfred, "Now I really must be going. Great business must be wrought ere noon." She turned as if to walk away and, with a pop, vanished without a trace.

After a long moment of shock they made their way to the bookstore Professor McGonagall had pointed out earlier. Finding the required textbooks had been simple, the shopkeeper was apparently accustomed to first year students and kept their books readily available. But Master Bruce was considering other books. _Anything that isn't combat or justice related,_ Alfred pleaded silently. Even if this magic school did nothing else at all, if it could simply bring that poor boy out of that alleyway he would bless them and pay whatever they asked.

Finally Master Bruce and the clerk settled on two books that matched his interest and skill level. Alfred peered over to see what the boy had requested. _Hogwarts, A History_ was a good start. Wise to research the school before attending and it seemed a harmless enough book. Alfred's heart sank, however, with the next title, _Magical Dueling in Theory and Practice_. Bad enough the only sports that interested the boy at school were various martial arts, now he'd learn to fight with that ridiculous wand? Still, perhaps the school year would help the boy move on. He could only hope.

Or, perhaps he could do more than hope. As he paid for the books, Alfred considered again the last line on the list of school supplies. Students were allowed to bring a pet. Perhaps having another creature to care for would help Bruce out of his own melancholy. "Come along, Master Bruce, the list says you're allowed to bring along a small pet. Why don't we have a look?"

Bruce looked up in surprise, "Alfred, I've never said I wanted a pet."

"I realize that, Master Bruce," Alfred smiled, "But it certainly can't hurt to look at the shop and see." Bruce accompanied him, not quite sullenly but certainly not excitedly, to a shop called the Magical Menagerie. From what Professor McGonagall had said it seemed wizards preferred to send mail by owl so, while that was an undoubtedly odd way to correspond, an owl might be the most practical animal for Master Bruce.

The Menagerie was a crowded building filled with various animal cages and the smell of food, fur, and feathers. Alfred and Bruce had barely entered when they were accosted by a small red and brown shape that zipped around Bruce's head. A second later a small bird landed on his shoulder and began singing happily into the boy's ear. The exasperated shop owner followed just behind shouting at the little bird before noticing the two of them, "Robin! Oh, I'm sorry gentlemen, he pesters everyone who walks in. He showed up in a batch of Flammulated eggs from America about half a year ago, my supplier won't take him back and nobody wants a bird too small to carry packages." This did not seem to perturb the little bird at all, it continued singing and hopped down Bruce's sleeve. "Robin, stop bothering the customers! Let me show you two around."

Bruce didn't move or even seem to notice what she'd said. He hadn't taken his eyes off the small bird, which had also completely ignored the store owner and had reached the boys upraised hand. "How much?"


	2. The Train Ride North

Bruce arrived at Platform 9-3/4 without incident, although he'd never have managed without Professor McGonagall's instructions and would have been lost in King's Cross looking for the oddly named platform. Alfred had tried pushing on the specified barrier to no avail, but Bruce had no trouble wheeling his baggage through. He left the trolley on the platform out of the way and returned to bid Alfred farewell in the train station proper. Both tried very hard to keep the tears from their eyes as Alfred promised to be there at the start of the Christmas holiday to retrieve him and Bruce promised to be on his best behavior while at school. Both failed.

Eventually there was no choice but to pass through the barrier between the two normal platforms and into the magical world. It was much harder the second time, knowing that he wouldn't be seeing Alfred again for several months. _At least it isn't really goodbye_ , he kept reassuring himself, _I have Robin to carry letters_.

When he'd brought the little cage home Bruce had looked up everything he could about the American Robin. While Bruce didn't know a great deal about birds, he was certain that Robin was quite a bit more clever than an average member of _t_ _urdus migratorius_ should be _._ The shopkeeper had been right that Robin was too small to carry letters in the thick parchment that seemed normal for wizards but, by buying a pad of lightweight paper and fashioning a messenger harness like those for homing pigeons, Bruce had been able to send messages with Robin. They'd tested this system by having Robin fly back to the penthouse from the other side of London, and he'd seemed quite pleased with himself when Bruce and Alfred had caught up to him at home and removed his little yellow and black backpack.

Students and their families crowded the platform making or avoiding their own tearful farewells. On the tracks a scarlet steam engine pulled a line of antique carriages. Something seemed odd about the train, though it took a second for him to realize what it was. _Shouldn't a steam engine have a coal car?_ Bruce didn't know much about trains either, but his father had loved them. Some rumors even claimed that was the real reason Thomas Wayne had pressured his company into rebuilding Gotham's metro system.

The train blew its whistle, signalling that there was little time left to board. Bruce handed off his luggage to a porter who stowed it underneath one of the carriages and assured him it would be attended to when they arrived. He grabbed Robin's cage along with his backpack and began looking for a place to sit during the trip. Now that he thought about it he realized that he had no idea how long it would take to reach Hogwarts. He didn't even know where it was, and no amount of checking atlases and maps during the last few weeks had given him any clues. Besides, even if he had known where they were going, he didn't know how fast this train would go. He didn't even know how fast regular steam engines went, much less a magical one.

As one of the last to board Bruce had no choice but to share a compartment with another student. He eventually found one with only one other occupant and said "Hello" to the older, dark haired girl. Apart from an odd look at Robin she didn't seem to pay him much attention, so he took the opposite bench and set down Robin's cage next to him. Unsure of the proper etiquette for sharing a train compartment, he intended to sit in silence and continue reading his copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ until they reached the school. Bruce had been quite busy preparing things since getting all his supplies from Diagon Alley and hadn't had time to go through all his new books.

He hadn't even opened the cover before the girl looked up from her own book and said "Don't bother with that, it leaves all the important things out."

"I'm sorry?" Bruce had no idea what she was talking about, what did the book leave out?

She set down her own book, whose cover looked to be in Arabic, "Ever since Hermione Granger cited it as one of her main references people think _Hogwarts, A History_ is the definitive text, but it only goes over the official history and only up to the end of the nineteenth century. There's no mention of Tom Riddle or the Battle of Hogwarts," she continued as though either of these names meant something to Bruce, "they never talk about the Riddle of Ravenclaw or the Chamber of Secrets, even though the Chamber was actually found, and it also never mentions house-elves or the school's difficult relationship with the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest."

"I guess there wasn't enough room for everything." Bruce hazarded, "Is there a better book?"

She shrugged, "Not really. You're best off just listening to the other students. Rumor moves fast in Hogwarts." She paused briefly and looked at him like he was a puzzle, "Your accent is American, form the Northeast, yes?"

He nodded, "Gotham City. I can't place yours." She wasn't originally from Britain, he could tell, but other than that he wasn't sure.

"My family moves around a lot, mostly in the Middle East, but my father wanted me to study at Hogwarts." She looked out the window as the train began to move and said something in Arabic that Bruce couldn't translate but assumed was impolite. "I'm supposed to be at the prefect meeting at the front." She threw a robe over her clothes, "I'm Talia al'Ghul, by the way, one of the Slytherin prefects."

"Bruce Wayne, it's my first year," He replied and shook her offered hand. He'd at least read enough to know that students at Hogwarts were divided into four houses their first year and that prefects were older students charged with enforcing the rules in their house. The book said the practice of sorting students into Houses descended from the school's four founders, who personally mentored students who shared their ideals. It was vague on exactly what those ideals were or how the students were sorted, though.

"Good luck at Hogwarts, Bruce." With that she grabbed her book and walked briskly from the compartment.

Deciding incomplete preparation was better than none at all, Bruce opened up the book to where he'd left off. He hadn't gotten very far when his reading was interrupted by another group of students looking for a vacant compartment. Four older kids opened the compartment door and looked in. The shorter, dark haired boy in the lead sneered at Robin and looked right at Bruce when he said, "Here we go, chaps, this one's empty."

Bruce had a pretty good idea how the following exchange would go. There was enough space for all five of them even with the cage but the lead boy, or one of his friends, would invent a reason to forcibly remove the smaller Bruce and his little bird, proving to each other how big and strong they were. Three years ago he'd have walked away and let them have the compartment.

His father had tried giving a bully what he wanted and he'd only wanted more.

Setting his book down next to Robin's cage first, Bruce stood. He only came up to the shortest one's chin. "There's plenty of room to share," he began with a smile.

"Share?!" The lead boy laughed, "I don't think you heard me, mate. We're the most elite crew in school, and this here's our private room now." He pulled a wand from his pocket and pointed it at Bruce's face, "Now you'll be getting out of our way."

He'd barely gotten through three chapters of _Magical Dueling in Theory and Practice_ and only started on _Practical Magical Defense_ , he had no idea how much the older students had already learned, and he'd barely even tried using his wand. But Bruce had spent the last three years practicing defensive techniques with Alfred Pennyworth.

He stepped to the side and grabbed the lead boy's wrist, bringing it down and twisting it to force the taller boy off balance and hold him low at a safe distance. The older boy cried out in pain and dropped his wand. Seeing the boy's friends raise their own wands, Bruce stepped around and raised the boy's wrist, forcing him to stand between his friends and Bruce just as three flashes of light shot from their wands.

At once the bully's legs gave out and his arms snapped to his sides. At the same moment he began babbling nonsense. Bruce let go of the boy's wrist in surprise at the sudden movement and weight as the boy collapsed on the floor just inside the compartment. With their target's shield now lying on the ground the three bullies had a clear line of sight, he couldn't close the distance to them without being hit by their curses and he couldn't try to dodge in the confined compartment.

Bruce was cornered and out-numbered when a sudden shrill cry came from behind the three bullies. The girl suddenly cried out as a red and brown blur assaulted her through her wild brown hair. Distracted by Bruce's unexpected attack on the leader, no one had noticed that Robin had opened his cage and flown around behind the bullies. The little bird was now viciously scratching and pecking the girl's face as she dropped her wand and desperately tried to ward him off with her hands.

That gave Bruce the opening he needed. He started to grab the lanky, greasy haired boy when a familiar voice shouted, "All of you stop!" Very slowly Bruce stepped back, Robin disentangled himself from the girl's hair and flew to Bruce's shoulder, and the two boys put away their wands. Talia al'Ghul strode through the connector from the front of the train, two smaller boys following along behind her. While the lanky boy was marginally taller than her, all three shrank before her glare.

Talia looked from the three "elite" students to their still babbling leader to Bruce. She almost smiled before fixing her expression again and turning to the lanky boy, "I come back from the prefect meeting to check on my new friend, Bruce, and I find this. What exactly happened here, Rampo?"

"It's his fault, Talia!" The greasy haired boy, Rampo, said and pointed at Bruce. "We were just looking for a compartment and look what he did to Manny!"

She raised her eyebrows, "Right. A first year student hit Manchester Black with what looks like jelly legs, an upper body bind, and the incoherence curse all at once. While that was happening the rest of your little 'gang' stood here and watched. Oh, and apparently let a little bird try to eat your ear, Pamela?" She added, looking directly at mess of shallow scratches covering the left side of Pamela's face. Pamela flushed and tried to hide the scratches with her hair. "Is that what happened, or did you four decide to start a fight you couldn't win?"

Rampo looked to the large boy, who shrugged. Talia nodded, "I thought so. Nathan, you pick up Manchester here and find yourselves someplace to sit for the rest of the trip. Rampo, you pick up Manchester's wand and give it back when your curses wear off. Pamela, go to the hospital wing when we get to Hogwarts and ask Madam Pomfrey to look at those scratches."

They did as she instructed, glaring at Bruce from behind Talia's back as they moved on. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Bruce," Talia rolled her eyes. "Now, while I was walking through the aisles I found two more first years looking for a place to sit." She stepped aside to let the two boys behind her into the compartment. "You three settle in, I need to go make sure there aren't any more idiots getting into trouble."

Robin sang proudly and flew back into his cage while Bruce took his seat again. Talia continued down the aisle and left the two boys behind with Bruce. The blond haired boy ran forward and excitedly clasped Bruce's hand, "Hi. I'm George Cross. This is Miles Duncan. What was that?!" His friend hung back but seemed no less interested.

Bruce awkwardly shook George's hand, "Bruce Wayne. They wanted my seat and didn't want to ask nicely." he shrugged in what he hoped as a casual manner, "I just put their leader between me and them, so they cursed him instead of me. Robin helped a lot," At his name Robin looked up from cleaning his feathers and chirped. He tried to sound nonchalant but George and Miles weren't satisfied until he gave them a detailed explanation of exactly what had happened and showed them the wrist lock he'd used on Manny.

"Where did you learn to do that?!" George asked, rubbing his wrist while Bruce demonstrated on Miles.

"My..." Bruce let go of Miles' arm and paused to consider what to call Alfred. His butler? That was true but would raise more questions he didn't want to answer, and wasn't nearly as personal as he felt. His legal guardian? Also true, but also too impersonal. "My godfather's been teaching me."

"Wow," Miles stared in awe, "Did he fight in the war?" George smacked his shoulder, "Don't be stupid. Listen to his accent, You-Know-Who never went to America." What war were they talking about? Who was this person they were talking about? He had no time to ask because Miles had already moved on to a new subject by asking, "Why are you going to Hogwarts? I know there's a magic school in America."

Was there? Bruce hadn't thought about it, but he should have been able to guess. Professor McGonagall had said there were other places to study magic, so there must be schools in America. "My godfather moved us to Britain a few years ago after my parents died." Miles visibly cringed and both boys sobered immediately, which made Bruce felt a little guilty about his abruptness. He didn't want to go into any detail, but he also wasn't trying to make the other boys feel bad about bringing it up.

His reason for being in Britain was something that had come up at his last school and he'd expected it to come up again at this one. What was different was how George and Miles reacted. Kids at his last school had pried into his past but these two seemed to know that he wouldn't want to talk about it with people he'd just met. Were they just more thoughtful? Was it because of this war they'd mentioned?

By this time Talia had apparently made a full circuit of the train and was walking back up the other way, because she opened the door to their compartment and looked in on the awkward silence. "I thought you three would be getting on like old friends by now. Who died?" At Miles and George's shocked looks she seemed to realize this was exactly the wrong thing to say, because she quickly looked at Bruce, "Oh, sorry."

Partially just to change the subject, Bruce asked, "They mentioned something about a war earlier. What war?"

Talia sighed and motioned for the other two boys to make room for her to sit down. "I don't know when it started exactly, but a long time ago a young wizard named Tom Riddle left Britain to study magic around the world. I think he ran afoul of my father during his travels, I've heard Father curse his name, but I don't know what happened between them. After many years he returned home as Lord Voldemort," George and Miles gasped. Talia rolled her eyes again and added melodramatically, "And his reign of terror was such that most wizards in Britain still fear to speak his name out loud." She returned to her normal voice, "Most still call him 'You-Know-Who' out of fear and his followers called him 'The Dark Lord' as a sign of respect. Only the vigilante group that stood against him weren't afraid to say his name.

"He gathered followers and power for years and killed anyone who opposed him," she went on. "Until one day he went after Lily and James Potter. After killing them he tried to kill their infant son, Harry, but instead his body was destroyed. For years everyone thought he was dead, but maybe ten years ago he reappeared and mustered his old supporters again, breaking the most loyal out of prison and killing any who had abandoned him. The second time around he managed to install his supporters in the Ministry and took total control over Britain's magical government for about a year. Three years after returning he confronted Harry Potter again at Hogwarts and was killed for good."

"How?" Bruce asked. If he'd survived his body being destroyed how had he finally died?

Talia shrugged, "If anyone knows what was keeping him alive they won't say, so who can say how they killed him?" She stood up, "I'm heading back up to the front. Look for me at the Slytherin table once you're sorted. Oh," She seemed to remember something and turned around at the door, "Since you don't already know all this, I assume you don't come from a magical family?" Bruce shook his head. "Just so you're aware, some old wizard families are prejudiced against muggle-born students." At his blank look she added, "Muggle is a slang term in Britain for non-magical people. The idea of wizard superiority was one of Voldemort's main beliefs, so it lost a lot of credibility when he died, but it hasn't died yet." With that she turned to leave and waved, "Have fun, boys."

An awkward silence filled the compartment in her absence that was thankfully interrupted by an older woman pushing a snack trolley. While Bruce didn't have much of a sweet tooth, it seemed that George did and he and Miles bought quite a few Chocolate Frogs and other candies. By the time the snack trolley had moved on the mood in their compartment had lightened considerably.

The three boys passed the remainder of the train ride chatting comfortably. It seemed that Miles collected the trading cards that came with Chocolate Frogs, so he and George compared what had come with their candy to what was in the brown haired boy's collection already while Bruce looked on in interest at the moving portraits on the cards. Both Miles and George came from wizard families and they were curious what growing up in Muggle society was like, and Bruce was just as curious what wizard society was like. They traded stories and surprised each other with mundane details until the sun had set and the train stopped. They put on their school robes and were told to leave any bags and luggage, cages included, on the train to be taken to their dormitories. So Robin stayed behind with Bruce's bag and the still unfinished book.


	3. The Sorting Ceremony

Students shuffled off the train wearing their black uniform robes and pointed hats onto a small rail stop. Most of the older students moved off the platform in one direction while a booming voice called out from the other, "Firs' years! Firs' years this way!" Bruce looked over in that direction and saw a giant of a man with wild brown hair and a bushy, unkempt beard waving down the first year students. Bruce, Miles, and George all walked over to where the giant beckoned. He wore a brown moleskin jacket and carried an oil lantern in one hand while the other beckoned first years towards him.

When the train platform was cleared and he had a crowd of around forty or fifty first year students around him the giant introduced himself, "Greetin's on behalf o' Hogwarts. M'name's Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper o' the Keys. I also teach the Care o' Magical Creatures classes if ye wanna take 'em in yer third years an' up. Now, we're gonna head up ter the school by way o' the lake." He led them down from the platform to a set docks where a half-dozen little boats waited. Each boat was large enough to hold ten students, or five and Mr. Hagrid. At his beckoning they all filed into the boats. Once all were seated the boats launched themselves from the docks and took off across the lake.

As they rounded a bend Hagrid called out "Ye won' wan' ter miss this!" They passed around a low hanging tree over the lake's edge and saw Hogwarts for the first time. There was an audible gasp from several students, and even having read up on the school Bruce was impressed. His book had described a castle but Bruce had expected a more traditional fortress, not the eclectic combination of spires and towers and walls and walkways before them. A massive tower stood on an outcropping in the lake apart from the school itself, connected only by a single walkway that the boats passed under, and this was the only tower with a flat roof. The rest had pointed, slate roofs and were connected to the main body of the castle, itself several stories tall. Outer walls stretched from the lake and seemed to enclose a massive suite of grounds around the castle, which looked large enough to house an impressive courtyard.

Eventually the boats completed their short tour of the Hogwarts grounds and sailed through an open portcullis into an underground dock at the base of the castle proper. There Hagrid ushered them out of the boats and up a set of stairs leading to the main entrance hall where Professor McGonagall was waiting. Bruce couldn't hear their soft conversation, but after a moment Hagrid shook his head in a clear sign of defeat and continued on his way.

After the giant left she turned towards the assembled first-year students, "Hello and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My name is Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of the school. In a moment we'll continue up to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony and Start of Term Feast, but before we do there are some important things to discuss. During the ceremony you will be divided into four Houses, they are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each has their own proud history and traditions. At Hogwarts your House is your family. You will sleep in your House dormitory, eat meals with your House, attend classes with your House. Every year there is a competition between Houses to earn the House Cup, you will share in your House's triumphs and failures. Any achievements will earn your House points towards the House Cup and any rule-breaking will lose your House points. More serious infractions will earn you detention to be served with one of the staff or faculty and severe infractions may lead to your expulsion. Now are there any questions?"

If anyone had a question they didn't have the courage to speak up just then so, after a moment's silence, Professor McGonagall led them up a grand staircase into a massive dining hall. Again, no amount of reading could have prepared Bruce for what he saw. The ceiling, he knew, was enchanted to resemble the sky outside, and the illusion was perfect. He'd expected it to look like glass, but instead there seemed to be nothing at all between the room and the sky. Candles floated all over the huge room, providing a soft, even light everywhere. Four tables ran lengthwise with dozens of students seated at each and a fifth table up on a dais at the end of the room seated what looked to be the faculty and staff, including Mr. Hagrid.

There was a pearly white glow from various spots in the room. Ghosts, literal ghosts, had also seated themselves at the various tables. Bruce desperately wanted to speak to one of them, but stayed in line with the other first year students. Professor McGonagall stopped in the center of the Great Hall and pulled a rolled up piece of parchment from a pocket in her robes and a rail-thin man with long, greasy hair carried a stool into the center of the room. Atop the stool was a battered, old hat. A tear along the hat's brim opened up and, much to the astonishment of the new students, the hat began to sing.

It sang a story of four friends who went on grand adventures and did impossible deeds. It sang of how, despite their many differences, they learned to trust and respect each other. It sang of how they learned that their differences combined to form a greater strength than any had apart. Then it sang of how, their adventures complete, they decided to work together to teach the next generation. It sang of the virtues that each respected and how they looked for students who shared their ideals. The song concluded with the statement that the duty of choosing how to sort students had passed from the four friends to the hat that now sat before them and ended its song by describing the four houses,

 _"To Gryffindor you might go, if you value strength of arm and heart,_  
 _Or Ravenclaw, if in learning you see wisdom's truest art,_  
 _Or Slytherin, if you prize ambition and success in all endeavors,_  
 _Or Hufflepuff, if truth and loyalty are your greatest treasures.  
Try me on for size and we will find just where you're meant to be,  
My judgement's never yet been wrong, as you are soon to see._"

Its song complete the hat became still again. The other students looked nervous but Bruce couldn't seem to manage it. He'd been astonished by the school and curious about the other students and he was anxious to speak to one of the ghosts, but he couldn't feel nervous. In a strange way he envied George and Miles, that they still felt enough to be visibly nervous about putting on a weather-beaten old hat and joining a magic school.

Professor McGonagall unrolled the parchment in her hand and began reading off the names of the new students. First up was Annie Brogan, who tried on the hat in silence for a few seconds before it shouted "HUFFLEPUFF" loud enough to echo through the room. Annie took off the hat and moved towards a cheering table with yellow and black decoration. George Cross and Miles Duncan both went to Gryffindor, while Julian Desmond was the first new Ravenclaw and Edward Fyers the first to join Slytherin. Bruce looked over to the Slytherin table and, sure enough, there was Talia al'Ghul at one end and Manchester Black and his gang at the other.

Bruce's was the last name on the list, but eventually he was called up to try the hat on. It was very large and covered his eyes when he pulled it on. Just as it settled down something not entirely expected happened. " _Hello, Master Wayne,_ " A voice sounded, not quite beside his ear. It sounded old, almost dry. It sounded very much like the hat had, but softer as though only he were meant to hear it.

" _My, quite analytical. Well reasoned._ " Evidently it could hear his thoughts. Which would explain why it could sort students according to character attributes.

" _Again very logical. So let's see where you belong, shall we Master Wayne?_ " It didn't wait for his permission, " _I already see a keen mind and a logical demeanor. The mind of a detective, some would say. But there's more isn't there?_ "

Again it didn't wait before answering its own question, " _Courage, yes. In abundance. A heart that would stand against anyone or anything that it felt was wrong. Great capacity for self sacrifice. Indeed you seem to fear nothing. No, that isn't quite right, is it? You don't fear death, but you do fear something. Tell me, Master Wayne, what is it that you fear?_ "

The hat was quiet for a moment, " _Darkness. Not the darkness outside, but the darkness within. You have darkness in your soul, Master Wayne, and it scares you. It doesn't need to. If you embraced it you could be powerful, you could be great. You needn't be afraid of your own capabilities. The things you could do without your limits would make g_ _ _ods tremble and monsters weep_._"

" _Not like him,_ _I can't,"_ Bruce whispered, thinking of the man in the alley, and afraid for the first time in years. _"I can't lose control."_

" _Really?_ " The hat sounded vaguely surprised. " _You've the capacity to be truly ruthless. And that isn't a bad thing, a ruthless man can make the world a truly better place, if he sets his mind to it._ _Tell me, Master Wayne, what is it that you want?_ "

 _Justice_ , that was the obvious answer.

" _Are you sure it's justice you want, not vengeance? Justice is a different, and far more difficult, thing altogether._ _Embrace the darkness in your soul and I can open the path of vengeance to you. Is that what you want?_ "

Would he do anything for vengeance, anything at all? Looking deep inside himself, Bruce could see that the truthful answer was " _No."_ There was darkness in him, but to become a killer like the man he'd seen three years ago? That terrified him.

The hat paused again and almost sighed, " _Very well. Then I suppose there's no better place than_ RAVENCLAW!" That last came out loud, and one of the tables burst out in cheers. Bruce set the hat down and walked, calmly as he could despite his shaking knees, to that table and took the first empty seat.

If anyone thought Bruce had taken an unusual amount of time with the hat they didn't show it. Professor McGonagall rolled her parchment back up and the stool and hat were removed from the center of the room. After she joined the head table she turned back to the waiting students, "Before we begin the feast there are a few beginning of term announcements." A few audible groans filled the room, "I know, but I'm sure your stomachs can wait another minute.

"First of all, I'll remind everyone once again that the Forbidden Forrest is off limits to all students without exception. Thus the name." She seemed to fix her eyes on someone at the Gryffindor table when she said this. "Second, our Caretaker, Mr. Filch, wishes me to remind you of the list of banned items which is on display in his office and assures me he will punish anyone he catches with any illicit goods." None of the older students seemed to take either of these notices very seriously.

"Finally, we have two changes to the faculty this year. Professor Slughorn has decided to return to his quiet retirement and Professor Desmond will be taking over the role of Potions Master, which has left open the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," Professor Desmond politely nodded from his place at the head table and some of the older students chuckled at some inside joke. "This year we'll be joined by Professor Nygma, who will be taking over that position." Professor Nygma similarly bowed his head when his name was mentioned, a wide grin on his face.

"Now, enjoy." The instant she took her seat at the head of the table the empty serving trays covering all five tables suddenly overflowed with food. After three years in Britain, Bruce had learned to be cautious of English cooking but everything before him looked and smelled wonderful. He carefully served himself a small portion of everything within reach to sample. There was a moment of silence as everyone started stuffing their faces before the conversations that had doubtless been interrupted by the entrance of the first years and the Sorting Ceremony resumed.

Bruce looked around and saw a pale, silvery figure moving down the table. Her feet stayed on the floor and she appeared to walk, but she passed through the table as though she had no substance. She stopped to introduce herself and speak briefly with each of the new Ravenclaw students and a few of the older ones. Other ghosts looked to be doing something similar at the other three tables, floating over or around the tables, and none of the older students' reactions suggested this was at all odd.

The ghost stopped nearby to speak with Julian Desmond and Bruce managed to catch a few pieces. She had been Helena Ravenclaw, a relative of Rowena Ravenclaw for whom the house was named, and she spent her un-life in the school as an informal guide and mentor for new Ravenclaw students. Bruce forgot his dinner as he anxiously waited to speak with the ghost. Finally she bid Julian goodbye and continued down the table but apparently she read something in his face about what he needed to ask her, because she immediately asked, "Who was it you lost, and when?"

Bruce gaped and stammered out, "My parents, three years, how did you...?"

She knelt down to face him at eye level, "I've been dead for a thousand years. Many students have asked me the same questions and many times I've given the same response: I am truly sorry, but I don't have the answers you seek." She held up her hand as he opened his mouth, close enough that he could feel the chill coming off her the way body heat came off the living. "If they had become ghosts you would know by now, and because I have chosen this pale mockery of life I have not moved on from this world and I don't know what awaits in the next." Her proud features showed shame and regret, but her voice was tinged with empathy, "Whether you will see them again in the next life I cannot say, but I can say that you won't see them again in this one. I'm sorry, I wish I had another answer for you."

Tears welled up in his eyes, he'd thought he had run out of them but seeing the ghosts had reawakened a fleeting hope. Helena briefly rested her hand on his shoulder and the chill shocked him back into the moment, "What's your name, young man?"

His throat had seized up, but he managed to choke out, "Bruce Wayne."

She smiled sadly at him, "Welcome to Ravenclaw House, Bruce. Anything I can do to help you while you're here, let me know." She stood up to continue down the table, "You should try to enjoy the feast, as I recall it's delicious."

Much as he would have liked to do as she said, Bruce found his throat was too tight and his stomach too clenched to eat anything. He vaguely poked the food on his plate, but couldn't bring himself to try any of it. All around him the other students continued to gossip and catch up with friends they hadn't seen since the end of last term, they seemed inclined to leave him alone. Of course the ghost couldn't have told him anything, if she could have then Professor McGonagall would have known it and could have said something back in Diagon Alley. It had been a foolish hope.

A tap on the shoulder brought him out of his reverie. He looked around and saw Talia standing behind him, she motioned for him to make space and sat down next to him, facing away from the table. "I saw you talking to the Grey Lady, it wasn't hard to guess what it was about. You okay?" He nodded without speaking, but that clearly didn't satisfy her, "Look, Bruce, remember how I told you this country was just in a war? You aren't the only kid in this room who's asked one of the ghosts those questions, and there's others who will sooner or later." Then, abruptly, she changed the subject, "What were you talking to the Sorting Hat about?" He looked up at her in surprise and she added, "From what I hear, when it takes a while it's because the Hat needs to talk to you about something."

Unsure how much of the conversation he wanted to repeat, Bruce answered, "I think it was offering me a choice, but I don't know what it was."

Talia nodded, "Sounds about right. Well, you could do worse than Ravenclaw, I guess." She got back up and patted him on the back, "See you around, I need to get back to my own table before Manny tries to set it on fire or something."

After she left one of the other Ravenclaw students, a blonde girl with round glasses who was also wearing a prefect badge, looked at Bruce curiously, "How do you know Talia al'Ghul?

"I met her on the train. Why?"

"It's just that we started the same year and I don't remember Talia being that friendly with anyone, especially anyone outside of Slytherin. Not that she's mean," the prefect hastily added, "She's just pretty quiet most of the time and I've never heard her talk about herself much. She always acts like she knows something no one else does. I think she just likes to look mysterious." After a moment the prefect seemed to realize that she'd never introduced herself, "Sorry, I'm Elaine Beloc, one of the Ravenclaw prefects. When the feast is over we'll show you where the dormitories are."

The way she said it raised a question that Bruce hadn't realized had been bothering him, "Is it unusual for people to have friends outside their House?"

"No, not at all. There's plenty of clubs and study groups and stuff. Talia's just not in any I know of." Elaine went on, "And not everyone gets along in their House, either. Look over there at Barbara and Diana," she pointed towards two girls at opposite ends of one of the other tables, "They're both in Gryffindor and they hate each other."

Bruce looked back at the Gryffindor table and saw Miles and George engaged in a conversation with the dark haired girl Elaine had pointed out, Diana. Miles looked over and, nudging George, waved in his direction. Bruce waved back and smiled, feeling a little better at Talia's reassurances and the knowledge that at least he wouldn't be losing his new friends. His stomach eased and he started sampling the food on his plate. The Grey Lady had been right, it was very good.


	4. Riddles Asked

When the feast ended Bruce and the other first year students followed Elaine and the other prefects out of the Great Hall and to their respective dormitories. Older students had already filed out on their own, either back to their rooms or to other destinations. The four groups of first years separated quickly, with the Gryffindors heading up one staircase, the Slytherins down another, the Hufflepuffs along a corridor further on, and the Ravenclaws taking a path the led them up a another staircase yet. Their prefects led them up one of the castle's many towers. At the top of the spiral stairs they came to a large door that had no latch but an eagle shaped knocker in the center. Elaine stopped at this door and turned back to the waiting first years.

"This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room," she gestured to the knocker. "In order to enter you need to answer the knocker's riddle. Get the answer wrong and you'll need to wait for the next student to come along and let you in." She demonstrated by taking the large bronze ring in the eagle's claws and knocking once on the thick, wooden door.

As soon as bronze connected with wood the eagle turned its head towards Elaine and opened its beak, "You cannot hold me, but you can find me in your pocket. I have no weight, but put me in a barrel and it becomes lighter. What am I?" Without missing a beat Elaine replied, "A hole." This was clearly the correct answer, because the door swung open.

Behind the door was a large, airy room with massive windows looking out over the dark grounds and bookshelves all around. Bruce couldn't be sure but, from the shadows outside, they looked to be one of the tallest towers in the castle proper. A large fireplace stood on one wall with an array of comfortable looking armchairs near it, and a number of tables and chairs ringed the outer edges of the room. On one wall stood a stone statue of a tall, thin woman wearing a tiara and holding a book in one arm. She wore elaborate robes and her hair hung loose down to her waist. Her stone features resembled Helena's ghostly face and this was presumably her mother, Rowena Ravenclaw.

A few older students were still up chatting in the common room but they ignored the cluster of first years filing in after the prefects. Elaine gestured again, this time at two of the doors ringing the common room, "Boys' dorms are on your left, girls' on your right. You bunk with your year, there's a sign saying which door is for first years."

Indeed such a sign was hanging on the third door down the staircase on the left, which Bruce entered along with the other first year Ravenclaw boys. They found all of their things beside the five beds in their dormitory, including Robin's cage. Robin himself was sleeping comfortably and, after a few moments to change into his pajamas, Bruce was as well.

The next morning Bruce changed into his robes and followed his fellow Ravenclaws downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. Robin had already flown off before Bruce woke, but arrived at the Ravenclaw table in the middle of breakfast to help himself to some sausage. During breakfast a very short professor with odd, pointed ears made his way around the table handing out schedules to all Ravenclaw students. He introduced himself to each of the new students as Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House. Bruce thanked Professor Flitwick and checked his own schedule. Assuming he read it correctly, class periods were shared between two Houses and were one hour long. Some days had doubled classes for two hour long periods.

His first class at Hogwarts was immediately after breakfast, History of Magic, and the very first challenge turned out to be just trying to find the classroom. Bruce ended up arriving first with Julian Desmond, after the two got directions from Barbara, the auburn haired Gryffindor girl that Elaine had pointed out the previous night. She seemed impatient with them for bothering her, but did tell them how to find the right classroom.

History of Magic turned out to be taught by a ghost, which was also the most interesting thing about it. Professor Binns didn't bother introducing the course or topic and immediately began to read aloud from a thick set of notes that was kept in his classroom. The chalkboard behind him was completely clean and looked to have never been touched, save for when Binns floated through it at the start of class. Most of the class filtered in late, completely unnoticed by the ghost professor. Bruce initially tried to dutifully copy Professor Binns' notes but was lulled into a daze by the hypnotic drone. An hour later Binns set his notes back down on the lectern and floated back through the chalkboard without a word and those students who were still awake shook themselves from their stupor, woke up their classmates, and left.

During lunch Bruce decided to ask some of the older students about the ghost professor and got a surprisingly dull story. Professor Binns had taught History of Magic for as long as anyone could remember when one day, many years ago, he had gotten up to teach his next class and forgot to bring his body along. Rumor held that he'd been just as dull when he was alive as he was now. New students always hoped the ghost taught history because he'd lived it, but if so he didn't have any stories to tell.

Professor Flitwick taught Charms class that afternoon, and Bruce left lunch early so that he would have time to find the room. The tiny professor had to sit on a pile of books to see over his desk and used his wand to direct a piece of chalk along the board as he spoke. After introducing himself and the subject and conducting roll call, Flitwick led them through a series of carefully practiced arm and wrist movements and enunciation exercises to practice getting the correct form for the Charms they would be working on that week. He insisted that getting the motions and pronunciation correct would be vital to learning proper spellwork in all their classes, and assigned a reading from their textbook on the subject that they would be quizzed on next class. Some students groaned at the homework, but Bruce had already read that chapter of the book at home.

Their last class that day was a double period of Potions with the Hufflepuff students. Potions was held down in the dungeons of the castle, and it took the Ravenclaws longer than it should have to find their way. When they finally arrived the Hufflepuffs were already waiting with Professor Desmond, who had begun his lecture without them. Professor Desmond, despite his red hair, looked enough like the blond Julian Desmond to convince Bruce they must be related. He also didn't look pleased at the Ravenclaws' tardiness. He pointed right at Julian, "Why are you all late for my class?"

"Sorry, sir," Julian sighed, "We just came from Charms class and had trouble finding our way here."

While the Hufflepuff students seemed sympathetic to this, the professor was not. "So I suppose I should just delay starting my lecture until you can all be bothered to find your way? Two points each from Ravenclaw for tardiness, and an extra two for your weak excuse. Now sit down, quickly." The next two hours followed in much the same manner. Professor Desmond lectured on the properties of various magical substances and how different brewing techniques could reduce or enhance their effects. Every question the professor asked he targeted at Julian, berating him for wrong answers and ignoring correct ones while the blond boy responded in the same even, resigned tone without flinching or responding to the professor's insults. Finally the long period ended and Julian picked up his things and left the classroom without a word or backward glance.

Bruce tried to talk to the other boy during dinner, but Julian simply ignored him. He gave Louisa Ferret, one of the other first years, the same treatment when she tried to engage him. As Bruce was hardly an expert on cheering people up he decided to drop it and leave the other boy alone. Eventually Louisa also gave up and turned back to her conversation with one of the second years. Clearly Julian didn't want to talk about his relationship with Professor Desmond and why it was so strained. Still, Bruce couldn't help but wonder about it that night before he fell asleep. Having no family left, except Alfred, he couldn't imagine not wanting them close.

After breakfast the next morning Bruce enjoyed a double Herbology lesson with the Gryffindor students. Herbology was held in the greenhouses and was mostly spent tending to the various plants in small groups, so Bruce got to spend the two hours working with George and Miles. When the double period ended Professor Sprout gave out their reading assignments and sent the students out across the grounds to the castle.

That afternoon Bruce was surprised to find Professor McGonagall teaching his Transfiguration class. He'd assumed that, as headmistress, she wasn't teaching classes herself. Professor McGonagall began her lesson with a strict warning about the dangers of using Transfiguration magic without caution and warned them all that she wouldn't tolerate any degree of carelessness or clowning around. The rest of their lesson was spent taking careful notes about proper safety when using or making Transfigured objects, followed by a homework assignment to be completed by the next class.

Their final class that day was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Bruce had most been looking forward to this class, as had many other students. The assigned textbook detailed various forms of offensive and defensive magic as well as means of dealing with dangerous creatures. He'd asked at lunch about the class, but as it was only the second day of term none of the older Ravenclaws had encountered Professor Nygma yet.

Everyone managed to find their way to the correct room before class began and took their seats to find that Professor Nygma wasn't yet there. He strode in just as the class was set to officially begin. He wore a long, emerald green coat with a matching bowler hat, both of which he removed and placed on a hat rack near the door. He looked at the class through purple-tinted glasses, surveying each face in turn before finally saying, "Hello class. As you've doubtless heard by now, my name is Professor Nygma."

His familiar, American accent immediately caught Bruce's attention. Professor Nygma's next statement confirmed his place of origin, "According to my class chart I'm not the only Gothamite here. Am I, Bruce?" Nygma looked right at him, "Don't be shy, Brucey, stand up!" Reluctantly he followed the professor's instruction. Nygma looked around at the rest of the class, "I don't know what the Prince of Gotham is doing away from home, but I'm at Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." He smiled and sat down at the edge of his desk, "Riddle for you, Bruce:

" _The letter most often paired with your Q's_  
 _The answer most given when you refuse_  
 _The sound that is heard from owl's verse_  
 _Put them together, and who laid the curse?_ "

Bruce considered the riddle. Each line of Nygma's poem must have a different answer to be assembled to get the correct answer to the question in the final line. For the first, it was either P or U, or maybe R. For the second, it had to be " _no_ " that one says when refusing a request. The third was obviously " _hoot_ " except that " _P-No-Hoot_ " didn't make any sense. After a moment Bruce remembered George's reaction on the train when Talia was explaining the Wizarding War. It wasn't " _hoot_ " it was " _hoo_ " and so the answer was " _U-No-Hoo_ " or rather "Lord Voldemort." The class gasped when he said the answer aloud.

Nygma clapped, "Right you are, Bruce! You can sit down." Bruce gratefully retook his seat and Professor Nygma went on, "You see, students, many years ago a certain infamous Dark Wizard came to Hogwarts asking to teach this class. He was refused, of course, but ever since no instructor has ever managed to teach it for two consecutive years." Professor Nygma continued as he rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, "For decades everyone who planned to stay for a second year has found some, usually unfortunate, reason not to." He stood up, "Of course, the curse should have died when the man who cast it did, but no one wants to test the theory. Instead the position has remained an open rotation for those who are planning to teach some other course later or only looking for a year's experience at Hogwarts." Nygma swept an elaborate bow, "I am one of the latter. One year here and then I'm back off to Gotham City."

Julian Desmond was the next to be singled out to answer one of Professor Nygma's riddles, "When can your drink knock out your teeth?" To which the correct answer was, as Julian responded after a moment's thought, "When it's a punch."

"Precisely! Today we're working on the Knockback Jinx, which will feel like a strong punch to the chest of your intended target." Professor Nygma had them read the relevant sections out of their textbook and demonstrated the proper form and pronunciation in diagrams on the board. According to the textbook and Nygma's diagrams, the correct form for the Knockback Jinx was a strong forward thrust with the wand while saying " _flipendo_ " with the emphasis on the second syllable. Finally he paired them off and told them to practice the jinx on each other.

Bruce was paired with Louisa Ferret, the same dark haired girl who had tried to comfort Julian after their Potions class the day before. As they were sorting out who would practice the jinx first she asked him in an undertone, "How do you think Julian and Professor Desmond are related?"

He followed her gaze over to where Julian was squaring off with Tommy Smythe. It was something he had also wondered about. It was obvious they were related somehow, but how wasn't easy to say. Professor Desmond could have been Julian's father or uncle, or possibly even a more distant relative, and still share the same family resemblance. Julian seemed accustomed to the professor's abuse, so they probably had regular contact, suggesting a close relative. The boy's sullen response when asked about it also had Bruce thinking that they were close relatives, he'd tell them if it was just a mean uncle, right? "I think Professor Desmond is Julian's father," he answered.

"Bruce," Professor Nygma looked up from the paper on his desk, "It doesn't look like you're being punched in the chest." They hastily ended their conversation and squared off. Bruce tried to hold his ground but was unexpectedly knocked down and had to fall, tucking his chin and slapping the ground as Alfred had shown him. Bruce and Louisa took turns trying the spell against each other, and on his second try Bruce was able to remain standing but was still forced to take several steps back.

All around them other students were experiencing the same thing, some had to step back while others were clumsily knocked over and picked themselves up. For the rest of the period they continued to practice the Knockback Jinx on each other while Professor Nygma looked over something at his desk and occasionally picked his head up to correct or chastise some student. When it was over the class filed out, those whose partners had mastered the spell faster rubbing bruises.

That night after dinner the Ravenclaw first years had Astronomy class, held in the only structure in Hogwarts that was taller than Ravenclaw Tower. The Astronomy Tower was the flat topped one set apart from the rest of the school they had sailed under that first night. When class was over they took the incomplete star charts they were to have filled out by their next class and trudged sleepily back to their dormitory.

By the next morning Bruce had hoped Nygma's offhand comment had been forgotten. He was sadly disappointed when, at breakfast, Louisa asked him, "What did the professor mean when he called you 'Prince of Gotham' yesterday? I was so worried about Julian, I forgot to ask."

He barely withheld a sigh. There was no way to explain without also explaining why he was now in Britain, something that was going to come up sooner or later because of his accent anyway. Bruce didn't want to talk about it but perhaps it was just as impossible to avoid here as at his previous schools. On the other hand, George and Miles had understood that he didn't want to discuss things, perhaps Louisa would too. "The Waynes are one of Gotham City's oldest and most powerful families. He called me that because I'm the last heir of the Wayne family."

By this point several other students near them were listening in, but instead of questioning the "last heir" part Louisa instead asked why Bruce was in Britain. He gave her, and the others near them, the same explanation he'd given George and Miles on the train. She seemed to accept it and dropped the thread.

With the exception of that awkward but unavoidable conversation, Bruce's first week continued in the same way. When their first break came on Saturday, Bruce wrote a short note and sent it back home to Alfred with Robin:

" _Dear Alfred,_

 _My first week has gone well. I promise that I am keeping out of trouble. I've had to explain about my parents a few times, but so far everyone has been very respectful. I've made a few new friends, too. You would be very proud of me._

 _My classes are going well. You wouldn't believe it, but History class is taught by an actual ghost! I asked another ghost, but she couldn't tell me anything about my parents. She was very sorry about it._

 _Another teacher is from Gotham City. His name is Professor Nygma, he asks a lot of riddles and he seems to know a lot about everything._

 _Professor McGonagall also teaches one of my classes. Do you think maybe she works too hard?_

 _I still miss you._

 _Love,  
\- Bruce."_


	5. Lessons

Robin returned sometime early Monday morning with Alfred's response, which he proudly delivered during breakfast before pecking away at Bruce's bacon. In it Alfred managed to almost conceal his surprise that Bruce was getting along well with his fellow students and even making some friends. Both were things that he had found difficult in his previous schools.

Although Bruce had deliberately not mentioned his encounter with Manchester Black, it seemed Alfred had some other means of getting information. Or perhaps he had simply guessed that Bruce couldn't avoid trouble, because he had also written a stern reminder that if Bruce had any trouble with bullies he should find a teacher, not send the offender to the infirmary.

Bruce had just finished reading Alfred's letter when it came time to head to History of Magic. It was Bruce's fourth, and final, failed attempt to follow Professor Binn's notes during class. The ghost's long, monotonous drone once again lulled him into a half-awake stupor despite his best efforts to keep his quill moving. This was more alert than most of his peers, who had simply fallen asleep at their desks. When class ended those who were still partially awake shook their friends, gathered their things, and left. Professor Binns drifted back through the chalkboard as seemingly unaware of his students after class as he was during it.

As he was packing the nearly blank page of notes into his bag Bruce suddenly realized what it was that had been bothering him throughout the last few lectures. Binns spent the whole hour floating at the lectern and reading from a page of notes, but he didn't carry the notes when he came or left. Those were still sitting right there at the front of the room. If everything Binns was going to say in class was already in his notes, then wouldn't it be easier to just copy them directly?

Bruce took his time repacking his bag so that he was the only student left in the classroom. Professor Binns' notes were still sitting on the lectern where he'd left them. The yellowed pages were crammed with writing so tightly packed that Bruce had to lean in close just to make out the words. He tried to remember how the Professor had introduced today's topic, shortly before his hypnotic voice had made any further attention impossible, and spot it on the page. _There it is_ , Binns had read aloud almost exactly what was written down here. As he read down the page Bruce was certain he saw everything he could remember hearing over the last hour.

Very carefully, to avoid damaging the ancient paper, Bruce turned the page over and saw the same handwriting tightly packed along the back and onto the next page. The stack of notes was extremely thick. _Seven years' worth of lectures thick?_ There wasn't time to copy even the current page, but it gave him an idea. He set the top piece of paper back where he'd found it, finished packing his bag, and left the classroom.

A quick look through his textbooks didn't show anything that might help, so Bruce decided to ask Professor Flitwick that afternoon when Charms class ended. When the lecture ended students filed up to the professor's desk to hand in their homework from the previous week and, after handing his own homework in, Bruce stood to the side and waited. When the last student had left Professor Flitwick looked up from the stack of papers, "Yes, Bruce. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Sir, I was hoping you could help me with a problem I have," he'd already thought about how to bring it up, since he wasn't sure he should admit what his plan was, even if it wasn't technically cheating. "I need to make a copy of something pretty long, and I wanted to know if there was a charm I could use that would be faster than doing it by hand."

Flitwick paused and pondered the question, though Bruce couldn't tell whether he was trying to think of the answer or decide if he should share it. Finally he shrugged, "It can be done, of course, but I can't think of any simple methods. Nothing at the first year level, anyway. You might ask an older student for help." Bruce thanked him anyway and picked up his things.

On the way to dinner that evening he considered Professor Flitwick's advice, _Ask an older student for help_. He did know an older student he could ask, after all. Once in the Great Hall Bruce turned towards the Slytherin table rather than his own Ravenclaw.

Talia was already seated when he got there. As he walked up she looked up from her plate, "Hi, Bruce. How was your first week?" She moved to make space for him to sit next to her on the bench.

"It went fairly well, I think. I was surprised to find out one of the professors is also from Gotham City."

He and Talia talked for a short time about Professor Nygma, he used the same basic formula for her class as he did for the first years. "The riddles are tiring," she said, "But at least he seems confident about the material. Professor Desmond hated teaching the Defense class and his predecessor was a total fraud."

Eventually they came around to the other professors and he mentioned the same problem he'd mentioned to Professor Flitwick, "He suggested that I ask an older student for help."

"You know you can just buy that, right?" At his blank look she began rummaging in her bag. "I confiscated this from Evan McCulloch, the idiot was bragging about how he was going to use the mirror-specs right in the middle of the common room." From the bag came what looked like a slim magazine, though it was folded so that he couldn't see the cover. She held it just out of his reach, "You're not going to break any rules or try to cheat in class with this stuff, right?" Her tone made it clear that the actual question was, _Are you dumb enough to get caught?_

"Absolutely not." She nodded and handed him the magazine. He put it into his own bag to examine later, thanked Talia for her help, and on the way back to the Ravenclaw table he stopped to talk to George and Miles about their first week. Their stories matched his. Nobody in Gryffindor could stay lucid through Professor Binns' lectures, either. From the sound of it Professor Desmond wasn't very patient with any of his students, but they hadn't seen anything like the bile that he directed at Julian. There was still plenty of food at the Ravenclaw table when he eventually got there.

After dinner Bruce finally had a chance to look at the magazine. Keeping in mind what Talia had said about how it came into her hands, he decided to look through it in his dormitory and excused himself from the common room early. He pulled the curtains around his four-poster bed and looked at the cover. It wasn't a magazine at all, but a catalog for something called "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

After flicking through a few pages Bruce found the mirror-specs that had cost Evan McCulloch his catalog and, after reading the description, he could imagine what the other boy had planned to use them for and why Talia had taken this from him. Flipping through the magazine it became clear that the Weasleys took their pranks seriously. There were candies to turn your unsuspecting victim into a large bird (as a joke), snacks to temporarily cause violent illness (to get out of class), curse shields (to confound your enemies), and a multitude of other gags.

Eventually Bruce found the product Talia must have been referring to, and why she'd emphasized not getting caught cheating. In the middle of Page Thirty-Nine, right below Extendable Ears, was the Forging Folio:

 _"Forgot to finish your homework?  
NO TROUBLE! Just grab your mate's, put it in with some blank parchment and in a minute you'll have an exact copy in YOUR handwriting!  
Need a fake note?  
NO TROUBLE! Get a sheet with your professor's writing on it, slip it and the note YOU wrote in and in a minute you'll have it in HIS hand!" _

Just below that was a disclaimer that Weasleys' was not at all responsible when you got caught. Well Bruce wasn't really planning to cheat, after all. He sent in the order form and cash with Robin before breakfast the next morning. The catalog advised that it would be a week or two before his order came in, though their home office was in London so Bruce expected that Robin would be back in a few days.

He managed to get lost twice on his way down from the Owlery to the Great Hall. There was simply no avoiding it: The school had a mind of its own. _Or rather_ , Bruce corrected himself, _every single part of this school has a mind of its own_. Literally. Doors led wherever they felt, stairs changed landing at will, and even the walls sometimes seemed to move around. "Standing all day in one spot gets dull," Elaine said later, as though this was a perfectly logical explanation.

Sometimes the changes were predictable, like a door that stayed the same place in the hall but led to a different room each day of the week. Many other changes, though, seemed to happen at random, like the sudden appearance of doors that didn't actually open or lead anywhere in between the real doors in a hallway.

Growing accustomed to this was apparently a rite of passage for new students and it took until well into September before Bruce began to understand how the building thought. Because that was the trick, the walls and doors and staircases and everything else could think for themselves. Maybe only at a very basic level, maybe only very slowly, but there was a semblance of thought behind what looked, at first, like random motion. That was what Elaine had meant.

He was pondering this while absent-mindedly eating oatmeal about a week later when Professer Flitwick came around the table again handing out a note to all the first years. Ravenclaw first-years were to be taking broomstick flying lessons with Slytherin starting Thursday afternoon. This was cause for no small amount of excitement among the first years and Bruce wasn't immune. The idea of flying through the air, regardless of the method, had been a dream for as long as he could remember. He would have been preferred to share the lesson with Gryffindor, but there was no way that anything could ruin an actual flying lesson for him.

In the eager exchange that followed Bruce was surprised to learn that even some of the students born to wizard parents had not yet flown solo on a broom. At the same time there were others already eagerly telling stories of their own aerial achievements to anyone who would listen. The morning did nothing to diminish their excitement, by lunch the general buzz moved from flying itself to sports. Apparently there was a popular game among wizards that was played while flying on broomsticks and at lunch many of the older students joined the discussion with their own sage opinions on various teams and tactics and memorable plays.

Throughout this conversation Bruce felt totally lost and it looked like a few other first years were, too. Having not grown up with in a wizard house, they didn't understand anything about the game being discussed. Eventually he made the mistake of saying so and immediately the Ravenclaw table launched into an excited, overlapping lecture about the history and rules of Quidditch. He couldn't follow the dozen or so different people who were all trying to explain things over each other.

One thing caught his attention in all the jumble, "Wait, that one ball is worth fifteen points? Isn't that unfair to the rest of the team?" It became clear right away that this was entirely the wrong thing to say. The loud, excited explanations became loud, impassioned defenses. Apart from something about league rankings, Bruce didn't manage to gather anything from the ensuing debate, though it went on for the rest of lunch.

Bruce didn't care very much for games or sports, although his mother had been a big fan of the Gotham Knights and he fondly remembered going to home games with her. He hadn't even planned to engage with the House Cup, except that there wasn't much choice but to play along since the whole school seemed to be fixated about the inter-house rivalry. Still, since Quidditch meant so much to his fellow students, Bruce decided he should at least know a little about it. So when his next free period came Bruce went to the library.

Madam Pince, the school's librarian, peered at him from across the front desk, "Do you need something?" It didn't exactly sound like an invitation to ask, more like she was accusing him of wasting her time.

"Yes, I'm looking for a book explaining the rules of Quidditch."

She sniffed loudly in annoyance but after a moment led him down one of the rows of bookshelves and, without hesitation or pausing to check the spines, pulled out a volume. The cover identified it as _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , and it was apparently quite a popular volume if the checkout log in the front cover was anything to go by. She bustled off without a word as he tried to thank her.

It wasn't a terribly thick volume, so Bruce sat down at one of the tables and skimmed until he found the chapter about the sport's current rules. It broke down the four balls involved, the proper distances and heights of the court, the seven positions on each team, and the scoring system. There it was: while scoring a goal with the Quaffle was worth ten points, capturing the Golden Snitch was worth one-hundred and fifty and ended the game outright. The next section helped explain this a little, elaborating that final league rankings were based not on who won the match, but on how many points were scored versus how many were given. It was fairly common for a team to win a match and yet go down in the rankings.

This led into a story about how the Central City Lightning Bolts managed to win the Quidditch League of America's 1985 Championships despite not fielding a Seeker in a single game that year, after a falling out between team captain Leomund Snart and seeker Bartemius Allen. At the end of the chapter were various non-league versions of the rules, most of which eliminated the Snitch entirely or simply had it end the game without awarding extra points.

After an hour and a half Bruce felt he at least understood enough about the game to follow what was being talked about. He returned the book to the front desk and thanked Madame Pince for her help in finding it before he headed off to his next class. He noted that this time she didn't sniff in annoyance at his presence, but simply took the book and set it on the cart to be re-shelved.

His package from Weasleys' arrived the morning before the promised flying lessons were to start. A brown owl dropped off a slim package in front of him at breakfast before flying off. If he hadn't been expecting it Bruce would have had no way of knowing what it was. There were no labels on the plain, brown wrapping except "Bruce Wayne, Hogwarts" written by hand. Nothing about the package betrayed its contents or that it had come from a store at all. Clearly the Weasleys took caution not to attract attention to their customers. Bruce took his cue from them and slid the unopened package into his bookbag, responding to Louia's curious look that he would open it later.

With a double Transfiguration lesson just before lunch and his first broomstick flying class just after, Bruce had no time to open the package. He decided to leave his bag in the Ravenclaw dormitory after leaving the morning class. Once it and the Folio were stored away he ran to catch up with the rest of his class in the Great Hall. While he was certain he'd been watching where he was going, Bruce still managed to slam into someone coming around a corner near the second floor landing in front of a huge tapestry depicting the founding of the school. He stumbled back and just caught himself from falling. "Sorry, I guess I wasn't paying attention," he stammered out before he realized who he'd run into.

Nathan Jones barely moved when Bruce collided with him. The huge second year boy was nearly twice his size.

They were alone in the corridor, no teachers or prefects were anywhere in sight. Even the nearby portrait was empty, its occupant no doubt visiting another painting. Jones grinned at the little first year, "Talia's not here to save you this time."

"Your gang's not here to save you either," Bruce countered, falling back into a guard stance. It was a bluff, of course, his eyes were already scanning the area for a means of escape. With his size advantage Jones would surely beat the smaller boy in a fist-fight and if it fell to wands then Jones had a full year of experience over Bruce. There was no point in running back the way he'd come, there was no help back that way and Jones' longer legs would soon catch up to him. His best hope was to get to the Great Hall, but Jones was standing between him and the stairs.

 _The stairs!_ That was an option.

Jones didn't waste any more words or waste time going for his wand. He grabbed at Bruce. Bruce ducked under the older boy's outstretched arms, drawing his own wand. He quickly leveled it at Jones' sternum and shouted, " _Flipendo!_ "

The older boy fell back one step and then another, except that second step wasn't there. He flapped his arms in a desperate effort to keep his balance, and for a moment it looked like he might manage it. Then, as if in slow motion, he fell backwards and tumbled down.

Jones hit the lower landing with a sickening crack.

He lay face up where he landed and made no effort to move or get up.

Bruce's eyes widened in horror, until this moment he hadn't realized what his plan really meant. He ran down the stairs a frantically putt his fingers to Jones' throat and his ear to his mouth checking for signs of a pulse or breathing. After a moment he heaved a heavy sigh of relief. The boy's eyes were unfocused, but he was breathing and Bruce felt a pulse.

Bruce ran off to find help, but he'd only gone a few steps towards the Great Hall when he heard a voice behind him, "Well, well, little Brucey. Fleeing the scene of the crime?"

Professor Nygma was standing at the second floor landing, right where Bruce and Jones had been a minute ago. _How...?_ No time to worry about that now, "Sir, Jones is badly hurt! We have to get him to the hospital wing!"

Nygma made his way down the stairs at a leisurely pace, and eyed the stunned form of Nathan Jones at his feet. "Yes, I suppose we should. Very well, you go to the Great Hall, I believe Madam Pomfrey should be taking lunch there. I shall make sure that Mr. Jones here doesn't try moving until you get back."

Professor McGonagall was with the nurse, and followed along after hearing Bruce's hurried explanation.

When they got back Nygma was still standing over Jones, "Riddle me this, Mr. Jones: What sort of person throws someone down the stairs and then immediately runs for a doctor?" The dazed boy managed to groan in response. Nygma nodded, "Yes, I'm not sure either.

"Ah, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, a pleasure to see you both here. I believe this boy will need your attention," He gestured to Jones with his cane, while looking at the matron. Then he turned to the headmistress and pointed the cane towards Bruce, "And this one yours." He tipped his hat to them both and casually walked off.

Professor McGonagall looked after him in surprise, "Edward, where do you think you're going?"

"Unless you need my inexpert assistance as a nurse or a disciplinarian, I'm late for lunch." He took another step, then paused and turned back, "What is it you can give or take, but never gift; you can refuse or reject, but never return; you can have but not keep?" With that Nygma turned on his heel and left.

There was a brief silence as they watched him saunter off, which Madam Pomfrey broke, "He's been here a month and I'm already sick of his riddles."

"Regardless, Poppy, I need you to take Jones here up to the hospital wing. How is he?"

Madam Pomfrey assured them both that the boy would be back on his feet in time for his next class, then summoned a stretcher that floated in front of her and carried the injured boy away.

Once they were gone Professor McGonagall turned back to look down at Bruce, "Now tell me exactly what happened here." He did, starting with his first encounter with Manchester Black's gang back on the train all the way through to Professor Nygma's sudden appearance. Her face grew darker as he went on, but she didn't say anything until he was finished, "So you knew what you were doing, you expected him to fall down the stairs." Bruce nodded his head, his gaze down on his shoes. "Do you happen to know the answer to Professor Nygma's riddle?"

"Umm..." His head jerked up at this sudden change of topic and he tried to remember how the riddle had gone, "I think it was... a lesson?"

She nodded, "Good, although I was thinking more of his first riddle. In any event, what lesson did you learn here?"

Bruce thought about the encounter. He hadn't realized until Jones hit the lower landing just how dangerous what he'd done was, but he'd intended to push the bully down the stairs all the same. Looking back, it wasn't as though he hadn't had other options: Nygma had clearly been nearby and they weren't far from the Great Hall, he could have tried to stall until help arrived; the fall from the second to the first floor was at most fifteen feet, he could easily have jumped the railing and then run for it; he could even have padded Jones' ego and grovelled, the bully wasn't going to kill him.

"I didn't need to hurt Jones to get away, I had other options." His voice grew smaller, "I... didn't think about what would happen after he fell."

McGonagall nodded, "Good. You can't always know what they'll be, but your actions have consequences beyond the present. Keep that in mind in the future.

"Now, let's figure out your punishment," She looked up at the hourglasses that represented the current points awarded towards the House Cup. "I think ten points from both Slytherin and Ravenclaw for the fighting and another fifteen from Ravenclaw because of how you ended that fight; and I think three nights' detention should help the lesson sink in. I'll also be sending a message to Mr. Pennyworth about this incident, so I expect you to write him first." She pulled a gold watch from a pocket in her robes, "Oh, and the lunch period just ended, so you'll be doing without. Now, get to your next class."

Bruce did as she instructed, heading towards the Great Hall to meet with the rest of his class on their way to the practice field. He wasn't looking forward to flying nearly as much as he had been. He also couldn't help feeling that, out of the punishments Professor McGonagall had just assigned, the worst part was how disappointed Alfred was going to be.


	6. De - Tent - Shun

Two pieces of paper arrived in front of Bruce at breakfast Monday morning.

The first was Alfred's response to his letter and the one Professor McGonagall had sent. Bruce couldn't remember Alfred ever getting really angry with him but this time had to be different. He couldn't even bear to open the letter, instead he slipped it into his pocket still sealed. Alfred must have been furious when he heard what Bruce had done, especially after he'd been specifically warned. Robin seemed to know something was wrong, for once he didn't immediately attack Bruce's breakfast after finishing his delivery and instead perched on Bruce's shoulder and gently rubbed against his cheek.

The second was handed to him silently by Professor Flitwick just before breakfast ended, as students were beginning to file out on their way to class. It simply said to report to Professor Nygma's office Tuesday evening after dinner for his first night of detention. That note Bruce pocketed immediately, hoping nobody at the Ravenclaw table would ask about it. Jones had reappeared at dinner on Thursday none the worse for wear, but since then the number of dirty looks coming his way from the Slytherin table had shot up. At least the Elites were too proud to admit that their biggest member had been bested by a bookish little first-year. Nobody else (except perhaps for Talia who always acted like she knew everything) seemed to have heard about the encounter on the stairs. Bruce preferred to keep it that way.

As usual, it was completely impossible to focus on Professor Binns' lecture for long. Today, however, it wasn't because Bruce kept nodding off but because his mind kept drifting down to the unopened letter in his pocket. If he didn't open it then he'd never have to know how angry Alfred was with him, right? Knowing he'd made Alfred upset must feel worse than he already did, so why find out? _Is that what Mom and Dad taught me? To avoid my problems and pretend nothing's wrong?_ Thomas Wayne had faced his problems head on, right up until his death. How could Bruce do anything less?

Besides, whatever Alfred had written in this letter he'd meant for Bruce to read. Ignoring it would just be letting him down even more. _And I've already let him down enough._ With a sigh, he pulled the message tube from his pocket and unscrewed the lid. Alfred's letter was inside, written on the thin messenger paper Bruce had purchased, and folded over to keep the lightweight sheets in order. The ink from Alfred's fountain pen bled through the thin paper, showing his tidy hand on the back of the outer sheet. _I'm stalling_ , Bruce chided himself and, still somewhat reluctantly, opened the folded bundle of paper.

" _Master Bruce,_ " It began " _I heard from Professor McGonagall about what happened shortly after Robin arrived with your letter. She tells me that when you realized the young man was injured you ran for help and confessed to what you had done. That is good. What you did was wrong, you should have considered what would happen before you acted, but when the time came you put things right and you accepted the consequences of your mistake._

" _You overreacted and I believe that you know that. This other boy, regardless of his size, has not had the training or the experiences that you have. What he threatened you with was not close to the price you made him pay for those threats. It is up to you to understand this. You've learned how to use force to defend yourself but you still need to learn when to do so and when not to._

" _I believe that your father would be very disappointed to learn how rashly and inappropriately you've acted, but he would also be proud to know that you tried to fix and learn from your errors. I know that I am."_ Below was Alfred's signature.

It was just as well that Professor Binns didn't pay attention to his class and that his lectures kept the students hypnotized. By the time class was over Bruce had composed himself and managed to wipe any signs of wetness from his face. He left class with the other Ravenclaws, Alfred's letter folded up in his pocket. One burden he'd carried on his shoulders since Friday was lifted, Alfred wasn't angry with him. Now he just needed to face whatever Professor Nygma was going to come up with for his punishment.

He found out earlier the next day than expected. As everyone was packing up their things at the end of Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Nygma called out loud, "Oh, Bruce, before you go I need to talk to you about your detention with me tonight." From the enormous grin on Nygma's face, it was clear he'd guessed that Bruce didn't want anyone to know about his detention or why he had it. He was deliberately announcing to the class that Bruce was in trouble and inviting them to find out why. Was this part of Bruce's punishment or did the professor just enjoy watching him squirm?

Bruce endured his classmates' curious glances in silence and dutifully waited until the classroom was empty. When at last Louisa Ferret had finished packing her things and left, which took her twice as long as normal, Bruce approached Professor Nygma's desk. Nygma remained seated and grinning, saying nothing for a minute. It was apparently up to Bruce to ask, "What do you need me to do, Professor?"

"I'm glad you asked, Bruce," he replied, as though Bruce had come and asked of his own accord rather than being forced to do so. "And I'm glad you decided to get yourself into trouble this week! I was afraid I'd be stuck with one of your dunderhead peers as an assistant." He pulled a small packet of papers from a drawer in his desk, but instead of handing it over he held it just out of reach. Bruce knew what was coming next even before Nygma asked, "What are you out of when your fever is up?"

"Sorts," Bruce tried very hard not to roll his eyes. Were Nygma's riddles getting easier or was he just reaching to come up with a relevant one?

"Good, and that's what you'll be doing for me tonight," Nygma handed the packet to Bruce. "Your job will be simple, you'll be sorting references for me. Read these so you understand my organization system and what I'm looking for. I don't want to waste any time explaining this to you when we should be working." He turned back to the notes on his desk in a clear sign of dismissal, so Bruce gathered up his bookbag and left the classroom.

In the hall he hesitated over where to go next. There was still over an hour before dinner. Did he want to head up to the common room and face the inevitable interrogation about his detention now or hide from them and deal with it at dinner? At dinner the questions would be easier to avoid but by then rumor would have spread and he would be facing, at least, all of Ravenclaw house. There wasn't really any avoiding the conversation that was coming. It was probably better to get it over with.

On the other hand, if he was busy explaining what had happened then he couldn't very well be reviewing the notes Professor Nygma had given him, could he? It wasn't avoiding an unwanted confrontation if he was being a responsible student and obeying a professor. He could review Nygma's notes in the library and avoid unwanted attention.

At least, he thought he could. He was still reviewing Nygma's notes, and there was still some time to go before dinner started, when he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of George and Miles. They sat down on either side and if he'd been harboring any illusion that they were simply here to study it was quickly shattered when George said, "Louisa just told me that you got detention with Professor Nygma." After a moment, when Bruce didn't reply, he added, "You might as well tell us now, we're gonna find out sooner or later."

It was true enough, and Bruce had been thinking the exact same thing earlier. So he told them about literally running into Jones on the landing, about how he'd pushed the bigger boy down the stairs, how Nygma had suddenly appeared behind them, and about what Professor McGonagall had said when he'd gone to fetch Madam Pomfrey. It was better talking to the two of them than he'd been worried about. George and Miles didn't interrupt his account and they didn't accuse him of hurting Jones on purpose or, even worse, act impressed by what he'd done.

In fact, when he was finished, George only said, "Is that all?" Bruce stared open-mouthed at the other boy. What more did they expect, wasn't this bad enough? George wasn't finished, though. He put his hand on Bruce's shoulder and went on, "Bruce, mate, you really need to watch a proper Quidditch game. I hear that Jones is trying out for the Slytherin team as a beater, and if he can't handle a little tumble down the stairs he's got no business on a broom."

Miles nodded his agreement and added, "Really, Bruce, I know you feel bad about overreacting and all, but it's fine, Jones is fine and nobody's mad at you except for you." After a pause he added, "Well, and Manny and Pamela and Rampo, but they were mad at you anyway, so they don't count."

Bruce had to laugh at that. They were right, after all. He'd gotten into a fight with a bully, overreacted, and pushed the other boy down the stairs. It was dumb and he was being punished for it because that was fair and to make sure that he learned. And he _would_ learn. When another encounter like Thursday's happened in the future he'd respond appropriately. Beating himself up wouldn't change anything and wasn't making things better.

Of course, he did still need to do his detention and Professor Nygma did want him to finish going over all these notes before he got there. He told Miles and George as much. George's eyes began to glaze over when Bruce mentioned that Nygma wanted help with sorting notes, a task that sounded just as dull to him as it did to Bruce, but Miles got a curious look on his face, "I wonder what Nygma wants help finding."

"Probably more riddles," George muttered, but he did pick his head back up. The real reason Nygma had come to Hogwarts was still something of a mystery. He said it was just for the prestige, but rumors flew around the school regarding the American transplant. Of course, as Talia had told him on the train, there was nothing the Hogwarts student body loved more than rumors and they were not above inventing gossip in the absence of anything interesting.

With their company (even though George wasn't really helping) Bruce got through Nygma's notes much more quickly than he had been and they were through the stack well before dinner. Which left them with time to speculate over what it was that Nygma was researching. Of course, nothing he'd given Bruce said what it was he was researching, it was mostly just about what references he was using and how he was organizing his own notes. These covered a wide variety of topics. There were references to the history of Hogwarts itself, magical Europe in general, a number of different fields in magical theory, and all of it was well beyond anything that the three boys understood.

Nothing in the papers he'd given Bruce gave them any indication as to what Nygma was actually researching. Miles, however, still wasn't deterred from the possibility of figuring out if Nygma really was after some great secret, "Maybe we could figure out what he's after from where he's trying to find it."

George groaned, "Even if I wanted to read every page of _A Survey of Magical Britain in the Fifteenth Century -_ Which I don't! - we can't remember every last book and chapter he wants!"

He was right, there wasn't enough time to copy everything Nygma wanted. Except, of course, there was. Bruce removed the Forgers' Folio from his bag, "If we copy everything down, can we split up all the research?" They both nodded, Miles eagerly and George reluctantly, as Bruce slipped all of Nygma's notes into the Folio.

Of course, showing them the Folio led into explaining what it was and why he'd bought it. Both agreed that it wasn't technically cheating, since they still had to study the notes and it was all the same notes that Binns wanted them to copy, they were just skipping the part where they actually had to listen to him. They also agreed that it would be better if they weren't caught borrowing Binns' notes to copy.

Miles suggested that one person staying after every class would be suspicious, but if they split the Folio between them they could take turns staying to copy that day's notes. They could meet up three times a week in the library to swap the Folio and copy each other's notes, "... so we'd just look like a regular study group!" A History of Magic "study group" was also the perfect chance to meet and go over what they'd learned about Nygma and whatever he was up to. It was a good plan, better than Bruce's original one, and he felt a little guilty that he hadn't thought to involve the other boys from the beginning.

By the time they headed to the Great Hall for dinner they had each selected a portion of the references to look over and agreed to discuss their findings during their next "study group" meeting. With luck at least one of them would have found some clue.

After dinner it was time to report to the office belonging to the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor. The door was open and several lamps were lit, so Bruce let himself in. Nygma wasn't there yet but his presence filled the room down to the emerald green overcoat on the hook next to the door. Books and notes were littered everywhere, the only flat surface in the room that hadn't yet managed to accumulate clutter was a small student desk that had clearly been moved in from one of the classrooms. There was a note taped to the seatback with a poem,

 _"How you begin when you want to go back.  
A place you can stay that you also can pack.  
What's done to those whom we wish were away.  
Put them together, and here's where you'll stay."_

Since the chair was obviously for Bruce there was no need to solve the riddle, the answer somehow had to be "detention." He set his things down next to it and pulled out the original copies of Nygma's notes that he'd been given that afternoon. There was no clear indication which piles he was expected to start sorting, so Bruce began looking around the office. From what Talia had told him, this room was apt to change dramatically with each new owner. A professor might cover it in personal photos and knick-knacks or fill it with practical equipment and monster cages for lessons or they might never bother moving in at all, as Professor Desmond had done.

Professor Nygma had covered the office in what had to be his research. Against one wall he'd used magnets to stick a variety of notes to a blackboard which featured a large, hand-drawn map of Hogwarts and against another he'd hung up a corkboard and pinned yet more notes and pictures connected by bits of string in a variety of colors. Several shelves and small tables were covered in books, which looked to have been borrowed from the school library, along with piles of handwritten notes of varying ages. In one corner a huge globe sat next to the professor's desk, the globe had sticky-notes in apparently random locations and the desk was covered in yet more notes and books.

Bruce was just beginning to look over the corkboard ( _What's the connection between Plato, Ravenclaw, and Pendragon?_ ) when Professor Nygma finally returned and saw him standing there. "I'm disappointed, Bruce. I thought my hint was enough for you to figure out which seat is yours." Bruce mumbled an apology and returned to the "detention" chair.

Once he was seated, Nygma dropped a stack of loose papers on the desk. "I want you to organize these and take notes about anything that seems relevant to the topics I assigned you this afternoon. You did finish going over everything I gave you, right?" Bruce nodded without speaking and Nygma went on, "Good. Now get to it." Without another word he returned to his desk, and began going through his own pile of research.

For the next three hours Bruce silently worked his way through the stack of papers. It was an eclectic mixture of copies of pages from books, scraps of notes in at least a dozen different hands, newspaper clippings from around the world, and even whole pages torn out of books and diaries.

He skimmed all the items, looking for anything that resembled what Nygma had told him to look for, wrote down a quick note about each, and set them into piles. He was only a third of the way through his stack when Nygma finally said they were done for the night and that Bruce could return to his dormitory.

It was a long, sleepy walk back to Ravenclaw Tower. After mumbling a response that he instantly forgot to the doorknocker's riddle and shuffling through the empty common room, he could finally slide into bed. As he drifted off to sleep, Bruce mused that he still had two more nights of this and was no closer to figuring out what it was that Nygma was after.


	7. Volare

Nothing new came to light during Bruce's detentions on Thursday and Friday, either. The weekend passed without any new incidents and life got back to normal, as normal as Hogwarts life ever was. Classes continued inside the castle as the grounds went from green to red to brown.

A few other students that Bruce knew of found themselves serving detention with Professor Nygma, but nobody that he or George or Miles talked to could shed any light on what the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was researching. Going through the sources he'd given Bruce wasn't making much progress either, their "study group" was having more success as an actual History of Magic study group. That was probably just as well, since History of Magic remained as dull as ever. Only Professor Binns could make dragon attacks and troll armies so incredibly tedious.

The other classes at Hogwarts were more than interesting enough to make up for Binns. In Transfiguration they moved on from turning matchsticks to needles up to turning mice into pincushions and back, in Charms they learned a variety of ways to levitate or push or pull things around, and Defense Against the Dark Arts continued to practice new curses and defenses. Even Potions class was fascinating, despite how Professor Desmond belittled all his students and seemed to especially target Ravenclaw just for their association with Julian.

Broomstick flying turned out to be one of Bruce's best classes. Many of his fellow students had trouble adjusting to navigating in three dimensions, or they became dizzy coming out of sudden climbs or dives, or were just afraid of heights; yet Bruce found it easy, even easier than when his father had taught him to ride a bike. It was like he'd always been meant to be moving through the air and just hadn't known it.

His ease on a broom didn't go unnoticed by Madam Hooch, the school's Flying Instructor and Quidditch Coach, who pulled him aside after flying class a few weeks after his detentions. He held on to the Shooting Star he'd flown during class while everyone else put away their brooms in the equipment shed and headed up to the castle. Was he in trouble? He'd done everything she'd told them to do during class perfectly.

"You're muggle-born, right?" She asked without preamble. Bruce nodded, he couldn't possibly be in trouble for that, could he? Madam Hooch went on without seeming to notice his confusion, "So you've never ridden a broom before?" He nodded again and she pressed on, "And you've never flown anything else before, right? No sort of glider or aeroplane?"

"No ma'am," he answered. When she nodded but didn't respond he ventured, "Why are you asking?"

Instead of answering, she instructed him to hold on to his broom and head back out to the obstacle course. The course was on open depression in the grounds, about halfway between the Quidditch field and the Forrest. Wooden barricades of various heights were placed around the course to present obstacles or direct fliers and a rope ceiling marked the top of the course. During class, the instructor could watch from a nearby hill to see how students were progressing.

Without a word the Flying Instructor waved her wand and the course reconfigured itself. Bruce had seen this before, but the new course looked much more complicated than anything they'd done so far and he would have been surprised if it was meant for first years at all. "There's the starting line, lad, and there's the finish." She pointed to the two opposite ends of the course and pulled out a silver stopwatch, "I'll be timing you."

Her tone brooked no argument and he had no more classes this afternoon or any other excuse. He would just have to do his best to complete the course as instructed. At the starting line Bruce mounted the old Shooting Star. All of the school's brooms had developed their own quirks over the years, this one tended to list to the left and noticeably shook when braked too hard.

Madam Hooch blew the whistle and Bruce kicked off the ground and pushed the broom forward into the course. The first set of obstacles weren't too bad, a series of tight turns that wound left, right, right-left, 180 degree hairpin, then a straight sequence that required a gentle drop and swerving around small intrusions. Then came a sharp dive followed immediately by a hard left turn that Bruce almost didn't see in time.

Now the passage began to narrow, with the grass below and the wooden ceiling getting lower, forcing him to descend through an opening barely taller than he was. It opened to a sheer wall with no exit left, right, or forwards. _This is an obstacle course, not a maze_ , _there's a way through here._ With no other obvious direction to go, Bruce pulled straight up. He craned his neck back, _There it is!_ The passage continued directly above the previous section. Bruce changed his climb to an inverted loop, leveled out in the passage upside-down, and then rolled to right himself. In mid-roll he realized that this section also descended, and adjusted his path to match.

From there the course continued with a series of close placed barriers that had to be avoided by quickly going around, over, or below them and a series of hard turns. After a final blind left, the course suddenly ended and Bruce was flying towards the treeline. He turned the Shooting Star back and landed next to Madam Hooch. After dismounting he looked up and asked, "How was that?"

She held out the stopwatch, it read his time as 1:45.5, "I'll have to check the records, but I think that's the fastest first time through the Advanced Course and the fastest first-year time ever. Very neatly done. Even experienced students rarely manage that roll-off-the-top on their first try."

They walked in silence back to the broom shed. Madam Hooch made no further comments and Bruce wasn't sure what question to ask first. Why had she kept him after class? Why run him through an advanced obstacle course? What did having a good time mean? Was this something she wanted every student to do?

He didn't get any answers until after he'd stowed the Shooting Star. Once she'd locked up the shed, Madam Hooch finally seemed to decide what it was she wanted to say, "Lad, I've seen plenty of future professionals come through this school. If I had all of them back as first years again, you'd still be near top of the class. You're a natural on a broom like few I've ever known."

Before he could even absorb that she had dismissed him back to the castle with a final admonishment, "If you don't try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team next year, I'll take it as a personal insult."

Was he really that good on a broom? He was better than the other first year Ravenclaws, but someone had to be best in the class, didn't they? Did Bruce really want to devote that much time to flying, even if he did enjoy it?

And trying out for the team? He didn't even know if he liked the game! He hadn't even _seen_ a Quidditch match yet! The Hogwarts season started in mid-October, the first game wasn't until that Saturday. Maybe that was why Madam Hooch had pulled him aside now, so that Bruce would be sure to watch it and see what he was going to be getting into. If so, she needn't have bothered, George was insistent that Bruce watch a proper Quidditch game.

The day of the game, they made their way out to the Quidditch pitch after breakfast. The match was Slytherin versus Hufflepuff, so fortunately Bruce and his friends wouldn't be expected to be rooting against each other. Most of the school crowded onto the bleachers, bundled up against the Autumn chill. Many of the spectators carried flags in green or yellow, the colors of the two houses.

Madam Hooch started the game with a sharp not on her whistle and Bruce soon saw why George had been so blase about Jones' tumble down the stairs. When the book had described Bludgers, he'd imagined the dodgeballs from Muggle gym class. Instead, the Bludger was more like a small cannonball and any player struck by it was in for bruises at the very least and a two-story fall to the ground if they were unlucky. Jones had indeed gotten a spot on the Slytherin team, which was unsurprising given that in his second year he already rivaled the other Slytherin beater for size. Beaters seemed to be at the most risk of being hit by a Bludger, since their whole job was to block and redirect them.

Bludgers weren't the only risk, though. Chasers frequently twisted off their broom, leaving only their knees to grip it, so they could try to snatch the Quaffle from an opponent. Any wrong move here, or an unscrupulous elbow from the opponent, and the player was likely to fall. On either end the Keepers were just as likely to make dramatic dives to catch an incoming Quaffle before a goal was scored against their team. As the game wore on and players became more fatigued, falls and injuries seemed increasingly likely.

While the match went on, Bruce saw two more players circling around the stadium, sometimes passing over the stands. These, explained Miles, were the Seekers, whose job was to find and catch the Golden Snitch. Bruce remembered that, according to _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , they were most prone to injury because they would go to extreme lengths to catch the Snitch; gladly taking the risk of crashing into the ground, stadium, or other players; and there was a strong incentive to take them out of the game if at all possible. That, the book said, was how the Lightning Bolts had won the 1985 QLA Championships. Since Quidditch had no means of punishing rules violations except with penalty throws, Snart and his fellow Beater would pursue the opponent Seeker relentlessly until the fellow could no longer play, and if doing so required penalty throws then he trusted the Keeper to block them.

George insisted that the lack of any other enforcement was a key feature of the game, encouraging teams to strategically break the rules if necessary. Madam Hooch watched over the game like a hawk for any such "strategic" rulebreaking, but it must have been a clean game because it ended after a few hours (210 - 180, Hufflepuff) with no penalties called. Bruce noticed that the Snitch spent most of the game hiding near the yellow Hufflepuff bunting on the stands, apparently it didn't just try to dodge players by flying quickly.

The school was abuzz that evening, even the Ravenclaw common room was excited about the game and what it meant for the season. In the middle of all the speculation about the next match, when Ravenclaw would play against Gryffindor, Bruce managed to speak with all the current members of the Ravenclaw team. As it happened half the team were set to graduate at the end of the year, requiring major changes at the start of the next year. Which brought back to mind what Madam Hooch had said about how he should try out. Bruce still didn't much care for sports, but he did love flying and Quidditch would be a good reason to get his own broom and spend as much time as he could on it. _Well_ , he reminded himself as he pulled up his covers, _It won't matter for nearly a year, I can worry about it then._

That night Bruce had odd dreams of going with his Mother to watch a Knights game, but Gotham Stadium had become a Quidditch pitch and the players (still wearing their Football pads) were all on broomsticks. There was more, a riddle of some sort. Something to do with Nygma? Whatever it was it faded when he woke up. What he could remember was the feeling of being close to his Mom again. It felt good, having that connection to her, even if it was only a dream. Maybe Quidditch was a good idea.

His warm feeling lasted through the day. Miles even remarked on it during their "study group" that afternoon, "What's got you in such a good mood?"

"Oh, I uh..." Bruce stammered. It was too personal to admit that his good mood came from a dream about his mom, but there was something else he could mention, and it would be a good idea to ask them about it anyway, "Madam Hooch said that I was really good on a broom and that I should try out for Quidditch next year. What do you guys think?"

"How good?" George demanded.

"She said that I had the best blind time through the Advanced Obstacle Course of any first-year student she'd seen." Which was true enough, and repeating the rest felt too much like boasting.

"There's an _Advanced_ Obstacle Course?!" At a stern look from the librarian George dropped his voice, "There's an Advanced Course?"

Bruce nodded and Miles picked up the questions from there, "Madam Hooch had you run the Advanced Course half way through your first term. She must think you're good." He looked at George, "Even if she makes everyone try it, it would have to be at the end of the year."

George hand twitched and he visibly restrained himself from grabbing Bruce's collar, "I have got to see you fly. If you don't try out next year I will learn that Incurable Dancing Curse that Nygma told us about just to use it on you." He didn't sound like he was joking, and Bruce hastily assured them both that he was going to talk to his godfather about it.

He already knew that Alfred would encourage him to try out as well, he'd often pressured Bruce to attend any sort of social or team activities at his previous schools. It was still something he should tell Alfred about, so after dinner he sent Robin with a letter repeating what the Flying Instructor had said. Maybe when he went back for Christmas break they could look at brooms, although Bruce could hardly practice in the middle of London and wouldn't be allowed to have on at school until next year.

Monday morning he passed the giant, Mr. Hagrid, in the Entrance Hall carrying a pumpkin nearly as large as Bruce was. "Hello, Mr. Hagrid." Bruce rarely saw the Groundskeeper in the castle except at the staff table during meals. This was the first time he'd had a chance to speak to him since the first day of class.

"Eh?" Mr. Hagrid looked around at his own eye level before peering down to Bruce's, "Oh! 'ello there. No need ter be callin' me 'Mister' it's just 'Hagrid' ter me friends." He held out his hand, which completely enclosed Bruce's when he reached out to shake it. "Remin' me, what was yer name again?"

"Bruce Wayne, sir - I mean, Hagrid."

"Well, pleasure ter be meetin' ye again, Bruce." He hefted the massive jack-o-lantern he'd been carrying, "Hope ye enjoy Halloween at Hogwarts. 's like nothing ye've ever seen!"

That night at dinner he saw what Hagrid had meant. Dozens of jack-o-lanterns in a variety of shapes, all as large as the one from that morning, hovered over the Great Hall. Live bats hung from the invisible ceiling and flew back and forth across the Hall, and it was still over a week until the day itself. Every day the decorations grew more elaborate. Hogwart obviously took its holidays very seriously.

As Halloween approached the school ghosts got into the spirit as well, with Nearly Headless Nick going around to each table to share an embellished account of his own botched beheading and the Fat Friar retelling a variety of terrifying tales from his own lifetime. Only the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady seemed impervious, even annoyed, by the approaching holiday. Bruce learned why at dinner just a few days before Halloween, when Louisa Ferret asked the Lady about it.

"Believe it or not, young lady, being murdered was very unpleasant." Helena snapped, "Nicholas may choose to make light of his death, but I don't. Every year the others decide to play these ridiculous games, as though anyone around here forgets that we're dead." After a pause she looked over at the Slytherin table and glared, "As for the Baron's reasons... We don't talk." Then she abruptly ended the conversation by dropping through the floor leaving an awkward silence at the Ravenclaw table.

The Ravenclaw ghost didn't return to either the Great Hall or the Common Room for several days, only reappearing at the Halloween feast with the other Hogwarts ghosts. They arrived as a group in the middle of the feast and the assembled students and staff were "treated" to a reenactment of the death of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Most of the room were far more interested in their dinners than in seeing the Fat Friar inexpertly try to remove Nick's head with a blunt axe, and even the other ghosts seemed bored by the presentation.

The most interesting part of the play was when Peeves the Poltergeist decided to spice it up by playing the part of the crowd at Sir Nicholas' public execution. This primarily involved him loudly heckling both performers and flinging bits of food pilfered from the dining tables in their direction. Peeves' aim was often "accidentally" off and he frequently hit the nearby diners. Barbara Minerva in Gryffindor was hit by a large custard that had passed through the Fat Friar's back and she tried to retaliate by aiming a curse at Peeves. He dodged and she instead hit Eddy Fyers from Slytherin, who tried to hit her back but collapsed when his legs wouldn't work and instead managed to get Daniel Cormac at the Hufflepuff table.

A general melee threatened to break out when Professor McGonagall waved her wand, freezing all the combatants in their tracks. "The next person who tries to carry on this nonsense will spend every night for the next month in detention!" When she lifted the charm the would-be fighters grumbled but returned to their seats and returned to their meal. Nick eventually managed to chase off Peeves, but by that point it was clear that his reenactment was ruined and his intended audience was entirely focused on their pumpkin pie. He settled back down at the Gryffindor table and the feast concluded quietly.

This, Bruce learned later, was actually a pretty tame holiday by Hogwarts standards.


	8. Fears

"It doesn't matter," George insisted for the third time, while Bruce and Miles copied from the notes he'd taken on Felgarth the Terrible. "A blowout would be bad for both teams. It'd be better to lose a long game than win a short one after the last match went so long."

Miles didn't even look up from his notes to rebut, "That's only if every match goes long, but if the spring matches are shorter - " Bruce tuned out the rest and focused on the failed 1356 rebellion. The conversation had been going in circles almost since they sat down for their History of Magic "study session" over the possible outcomes of Saturday's game.

With four house teams, there were six games in the Hogwarts Quidditch season. Christmas break made scheduling difficult in December and January, so the last game of the fall term was in November and Quidditch wouldn't resume until February. Which meant there was a great deal of excitement for the Ravenclaw - Gryffindor game for the whole week leading up to it.

Bruce wanted to keep the rivalry friendly with George and Miles but, since speaking with all the members of the Ravenclaw team, he felt a small personal stake in how they did. He finished the last line of notes regarding the dread goblin's defeat and set his quill down, "You're both forgetting that Ravenclaw could actually win this game."

Miles, at least, had the decency to look sheepish at the callout. George, however pushed on, "Well, yeah, I guess. It doesn't matter, though, what matters is the points at the end. That's what I'm saying, it's better to lose but still get ahead of Slytherin - "

"That is quite enough!" Hissed the voice of Madam Pince from somewhere behind Bruce's shoulder. She continued in the harsh whisper that all librarians seemed to master, "This is a library. It is a place of study, not a place for you three to debate Quidditch! Pack up and go somewhere you aren't disturbing anyone." Nobody else was around for them to disturb, but by now they knew the librarian better than to argue. So, a few minutes later the Folio and their notes were packed away and they were standing in the corridor outside the library doors.

"What should we do now?" Miles asked.

With the weather outside too cold for hanging around the grounds and no classes left for the day, there wasn't much to do. Bruce decided to head up to the owlery and see how Robin was getting along with the other birds. It was a little odd that so many birds of so many different sizes, some natural predators of the others, seemed to get on just fine. Then again, wizard owls did seem much smarter and better behaved than the average bird. Robin was the cleverest of the bunch, of course.

Since they didn't have anything better to do, George and Miles agreed to come along. Both of them found the irrepressible little bird and his antics entertaining, and for his part Robin seemed to get along with almost everyone. Except Manny Black's gang, of course, and as George had said, they didn't get along with anyone so they didn't really count.

They made their way across the Entrance Hall towards the tower that held the owlery, still arguing over the possible outcomes of Saturday's game. As they were heading past the Potions corridor, Miles paused and raised his hand, "Do you guys hear that?"

All three stopped and listened. Someone in the Potions corridor was shouting. It sounded like Professor Desmond. Bruce strained his ears to pick out what was being said or who he was yelling at. He was always cruel to his classes but never raised his voice like this. The boys looked from one to another, the unspoken question passing between them: Should they go find out what was going on? Desmond was not one to be trifled with, they'd sooner face Professor McGonagall's wrath than his.

Before they could move closer or move away, another voice joined the first. George and Miles might not know it, but Bruce recognized the voice of Julian Desmond. He motioned the other two to wait and moved towards the source of the shouting. It was coming from behind a half-closed door just down the hall. Bruce edged along that side of the hall, trying his best to stay out of sight. Eventually he got close enough to clearly make out Julian's raspy shouting.

" - couldn't be bothered to come home for your own daughter, Potions Master!"

"You dare - " Professor Desmond suddenly bit off the end of his retort. His shout dropped immediately to a venomous growl, "What do you think you're doing here?"

His heart leapt into his throat as Bruce thought he'd been discovered, but partially settled again when another familiar voice smoothly replied, "Oh, I do beg your pardon Professor and young Mister Desmond. I was simply borrowing some supplies from the Potions storage. Far be it for me to interrupt your family squabbles. I'll just be on my way."

Bruce scrambled back down the corridor to rejoin George and Miles and pulled them around the corner and out of sight, just in time for Professor Nygma to exit the classroom with the now silent Desmonds and turn down the hall. As they peered around the corner and watched, Nygma opened a small door between two bronze statues further down. Nygma glanced up and down the hall, but didn't appear to notice the three boys, then casually entered and pulled the door closed behind him.

"What do you figure he's up to?" Miles whispered, and George immediately replied, "Dunno. Let's go find out."

At that moment, however, a furious Julian Desmond stormed out of the Potions classroom coming up the hall towards them. Bruce tried to pull the other two back around the corner again, but this time they were spotted. Julian took one look at Bruce and his eyes widened in shock, then his gaze slowly took in George and Miles. His jaw dropped and tried, without success, to form words. A second later he bolted off towards Ravenclaw Tower.

Bruce watched for a moment and then turned back to George and Miles, "I should go talk to him. You guys want to check out that door another time?"

Both hastily agreed, conspicuously without volunteering to join him in following after Julian. A moment later the door he'd been listening at slammed open against the wall and all three boys scrambled to be anywhere else before Professor Desmond assumed, fairly, that they'd been eavesdropping.

Julian wasn't in the Ravenclaw common room but Elaine had seen him come in and head straight to stairwell with the boys' bedrooms without speaking to anyone. Bruce found him in the room they shared with the other first years, sitting on his bed and watching the door, waiting for him. None of the other boys who shared the room was around, so there was no one to interrupt their conversation. Bruce realized that he hadn't figured out what he wanted to say to the other boy, but Julian saved him from having to by immediately asking, "How much did you hear?"

"Not much," Bruce replied, "I got there right before Nygma did." He sat down on his own bed and paused briefly to consider before he asked, "What was all that about?"

For a moment Julian looked like he wouldn't answer, but then he suddenly lowered his gaze to his lap. "My sister, Emma, she - she's sick. Nobody knows what's wrong. My father hasn't been home or gone to St. Mungo's to visit her at all since he started at Hogwarts." Tears started to fall down his cheeks and the words poured out, "It isn't right. It isn't fair! He's supposed to be there for us - for _her_! She's supposed to get better! Healers are supposed to make people better!" He choked, and cut off.

Bruce remembered saying similar things just a few years before, and tried to recall what Dr. Thompkins had said to him. He hadn't wanted to see the psychologist at the time, but now he thought he understood what she'd been trying to say and why Alfred had insisted on it. But try as he might, none of her words came to him. All Bruce could remember was crying at the police station and what the officer sitting with him had said when he asked why it had happened,n "Sometimes bad things just happen and there isn't a reason and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it."

"Yes they can! I'm supposed - " Julian broke off and mumbled, "I mean, someone has to."

Bruce didn't try to answer. For a while the two sat in silence, until they heard the sounds of everyone in the common room getting ready to head down to dinner. Julian wiped his face on his sleeve, "Are you going to tell anyone?"

"I wouldn't have told anyone about my parents if Nygma hadn't brought it up. I wouldn't do that to someone else."

So they joined the crowed heading to the Great Hall and neither of them discussed the matter again, despite some prying from Louisa Ferret during dinner and again during breakfast. She and Julian were paired together during Herbology that morning, but Bruce was working on the other side of the greenhouse and couldn't hear their conversation. He didn't know whether Julian told her about his sister or told her that what he and Bruce talked about was none of her business.

Either way, she didn't bring it up again. Instead, she encouraged both of them to return to that week's most popular topic of discussion, the upcoming Quidditch game. **  
**

* * *

The game was, it turned out, very much the blowout George had feared. It ended when the Gryffindor Seeker managed to catch the Snitch after only fifteen minutes of play with neither team managing to score a single goal. This, if Bruce understood the rules correctly, put Ravenclaw solidly in last place after the first round of games. It also meant that most of the school had very little to do that Saturday afternoon, yet much of the staff were still busy with their normal weekend tasks or with the post-game cleanup.

In short, it was the perfect opportunity to try that door where they'd spied Nygma.

The three boys easily broke off from the mass of students making their way to various common rooms, and other meeting points around the castle, and headed down towards the abandoned Potions corridor. They crowded between the bronze forms of the enchanter siblings. Bruce kept watch on either end of the hallway, while George carefully opened the door inwards a crack and Miles peered through the crack near the bottom. It wasn't likely that Filch or his wretched cat were just hanging around with the door closed, but you could never be too careful.

After a moment Miles whispered, "Looks clear down here."

"Here, too. Let's see what he's after!" George pushed the door fully open and then paused in puzzled disappointment, "What was he doing in a broom cupboard?"

There was no sign of Filch, or anyone else, in the hallway, so Bruce turned around so have a look. The mysterious door was just a broom closet. He abandoned his lookout and joined joined the other two boys in their examination. The drain cover didn't move when he prodded it, and the pipe below was too small for someone to slid through anyway. There was no sign of any sort of switch or hidden entrance. It was perfectly ordinary storage for perfectly ordinary cleaning supplies. What on Earth had Nygma wanted here, and why close the door behind him?

As the other boys began prodding random bricks in the closet's back wall, Bruce thought back and tried to imagine what he'd seen Nygma do and compare it to what George had just done. In his mind, he watched Nygma pull the door closed behind him - _but George opened the door in_ _, so from inside we'd have to_ push _the door closed!_

"I've got it!"

Bruce ushered the other two boys out of the closet and pulled the door closed, carefully resetting the latch. After a moment he pulled the door open _outwards_ to reveal a long, dark staircase leading underground.

"Lumos," he whispered, lighting his wand and led the way down. Miles followed suit behind him, with George bringing up the rear. Once all were in, George pulled the door shut behind them, cutting off all light from the castle above.

Only their wands illuminated the staircase. As they made their way deeper the smooth, tan stone of the castle proper gave way to rough cut grey stone, much like that of the dungeon where they had Potions class. Still the stairs continued down, certainly deeper than any room they'd yet been in. Was this part of the original foundations of Hogwarts castle? Or older even?

Finally, the staircase ended, immediately branching off in a T shape. After a moment of discussion, they went left. "If we get lost we just need to make all right turns to get back out," Bruce insisted, vaguely remembering advice from an old book about mazes and puzzles.

So they proceeded side by side, with George running his hand along the left wall, and taking each left turn that presented itself. The first turned out to be empty storage room, or possibly an ancient dungeon cell. There was nothing in it except for an old wardrobe mirror covered in a dust sheet, which they didn't disturb. The next left opened into a shallow, sloping passage that led further down and curved slightly.

Their wands continued to provide the only light. As they continued deeper, Bruce began to notice a strange, almost sweet, yet unpleasant smell. _It smells like a burnt flower._ The smell grew worse the further they went, and he was about to turn to the others and suggest they head back when he realized that passageway around him had changed while they'd been walking.

No longer rough cut stone blocks, the walls were now dirty, grey brick covered in graffiti and the torn remnants of old advertisements. The stone floor was replaced by cracked, grey pavement and a drainage channel down the center. The previously silent corridor was filled with the distant sounds of a bustling city. The burnt smell now had strong notes of sulfur.

And two dead bodies lay on the ground.

"No," Bruce staggered back from the vacant, glazed over eyes of George and Miles. It was impossible. It had to be some kind of a trick.

Footsteps came from deeper in the passage and the familiar shape of a man stepped just barely into the wandlight.

"You can't be here!"

A muffled, mocking laugh echoed between the walls. Bruce froze in terror, one hand uselessly clutching his still lit wand. He couldn't fight, couldn't run, couldn't even think. The shadow raised its right hand and Bruce knew that no miracle misfire would save him this time. Time seemed to freeze as he watched the hammer start to fall.

And Miles screamed.

Suddenly he was back in the corridor looking at a transition from stone blocks to a rough cut tunnel deep below Hogwarts. George was standing, alive and well, to his left and Miles, also very much alive, to his right. Miles was screaming in terror while George was covered in sweat and looked to have just shaken out of the same sort of panic that Bruce just had.

"RUN!" One of them shouted, though later on they would never agree which one. It hardly mattered, they turned and ran.

Bruce followed behind George, Miles quick on his heels. From behind them, he could swear he heard the voice again, "See ya 'round, kid."

They sped back the way they'd come, frantically taking the first right turn as it appeared, and then scrambled up the stairs faster than any of them would have thought possible on the way down.

George fumbled with the handle but the latch held tight. He tried pushing his shoulder into it, but the door didn't budge. Miles and Bruce came up quick behind him and all three pushed against the door, but still it wouldn't give.

"Stand back," Bruce commanded and drew his wand while they complied. He'd found this in the Standard Book of Spells and tried it a few times already, " _Alohomorra!_ "

Nothing happened.

"Now what?" Miles whispered.

"I'm thinking," Bruce hissed back. From the sound of it there was no pursuit on the stairs yet. Of course! "Extinguish your wands, quick!" They did as he said and he instructed them to press themselves as close to the wall as possible. With luck, from the bottom of the stairs it would look like they'd kept running the other way.

Agonizing minutes that felt like hours passed, but no sound followed them up the stairs.

Ever so slowly, George reached out and tried the latch again. This time it clicked and the door opened. They piled out and pushed the door shut behind them, pressing their backs against it to catch their breath and hold it shut.

"Why wouldn't it open?" Miles asked after a moment.

Bruce thought about it, "Maybe because it was already open? I mean, because the broom closet was open?"

Bruce and Miles looked at each other as they realized what that meant, then cautiously peeked their heads around the twin enchanters to check the hallway. "Looks like Filch just took off for the courtyard," Bruce reported at the same moment Miles said, "Madam Pince is heading back to the library."

"Eeesh," George responded. "What d'you figure those two were doing in a broom closet?" All three stood in uncomfortable silence for a second before corrected himself, "Never mind, I don't want to know. Let's just go see if dinner is ready."


	9. Letters From Hogwarts

As the executor of the Wayne estate, Alfred was still quite busy even with his charge away at school. Added to those responsibilities, he had his hands full keeping the details of Master Bruce's schooling quiet from various parties who had some, real or imagined, interest in the sole heir to the Wayne fortune. Despite these duties, without the boy around, things were rather quiet. He found himself looking most forward to the moment each week when Robin appeared on the perch they'd put out on the penthouse balcony.

" _Dear Alfred,_

 _My first week has gone well. I promise that I am keeping out of trouble. I've had to explain about my parents a few times, but so far everyone has been very respectful. I've made a few new friends, too. You would be very proud of me._

 _My classes are going well. You wouldn't believe it, but History class is taught by an actual ghost! I asked another ghost, but she couldn't tell me anything about my parents. She was very sorry about it._

 _Another teacher here is from Gotham City. His name is Professor Nygma, he asks a lot of riddles and he seems to know a lot about everything._

 _Professor McGonagall also teaches one of my classes. Do you think maybe she works too hard?_

 _I still miss you._

 _Love,  
\- Bruce."_

It was hardly surprising to find out that Professor McGonagall was overworking herself. Everything about their sole encounter suggested that she lived and breathed her work. _And I don't?_ He thought ruefully. Of course, Alfred was only responsible for the care of one child, Professor McGonagall had... actually, how many students did attend the Wizard school? It hadn't come up. Perhaps he should write to the Professor and ask.

Or was he just thinking to write and ask because he'd met a witty, intelligent woman who could quote the Bard as easily as he did? _Certainly better not to bother her._ After all, she had a whole school full of magical miscreants to manage and little enough time to answer questions from curious butlers.

At least young Master Bruce was getting along, and making friends. If not for the fact that they boy had never directly lied to him, he might have doubted it. Still, there was a conspicuous lack of detail about his first week and just after settling into the routine is when potential troublemakers were most likely to start flexing their muscles. Best remind the lad about restraint _before_ they do.

Despite his warning, however, a month later Robin arrived looking exhausted from racing the much larger brown owl that sedately landed next to him. He collected both letters, but made sure to read the one delivered by Robin first, out on the balcony where both birds could see him. While he was no expert on reading their expressions, he thought the small bird looked relieved.

" _Dear Alfred,_

 _Professor McGonagall said she'll be writing to you, too. I hope Robin gets there first with this letter. I really messed up.  
_

 _On the train ride here some bullies tried to start a fight and I think I embarrassed them when I knocked one down and one of the prefects showed up and stopped it. Then I ran into another one on the stairs. There wasn't anyone around to stop the fight and he's a lot bigger than me. So I pushed him down the stairs._

 _He was only stunned and the nurse says he'll be fine but I could really have hurt him. I didn't think about what would happen after he fell and I could have jumped the railing or just begged him to let me go or even just taken a beating but I almost killed him instead!_

 _I know I let you down and I'm really sorry,  
\- Bruce."_

It was no worse than he'd feared, indeed it was better than he'd feared since the other boy would be fine. From the sound of it, Bruce had finally learned the lesson about restraint the hard way, but he had learned it. Still, it would be a good idea to write back and remind him of its importance.

The brown school owl carried with it the promised letter from the Headmistress, mostly repeating the tale from Bruce's letter. She added that, upon seeing that the larger boy was injured, Bruce ran for help and took responsibility for his mistake. In a post-script she added, " _I had hoped that your warning a the pub was an exaggeration. Luckily Nathan Jones has a hard head, probably since he rarely uses it. I am impressed that he didn't try to get out of trouble, you've raised a young man to be proud of._ "

He couldn't take the credit for that, but he had to agree with her. Best to remind Bruce of that as well.

He should also send the Professor a response, the school's owl did seem to be waiting for one, after all. As he composed one, he idly wondered how Wizard schools punished rulebreakers. Something he learned in Bruce's next letter.

" _Dear Alfred,_

 _Detentions at Hogwarts have you helping one of the professors with something. Professor Nygma decided I should help him sort his research notes for three nights for my punishment. He had notes and books and maps from all sorts of different places. George and Miles helped me go through some of the things he assigned me. We couldn't figure out what he's looking for though. Miles thinks_ _that Nygma's research is why he decided to come to Hogwarts in the first place, so it must be important. George thinks it's boring._

 _Maybe they're both right?_

 _Love,  
\- Bruce."_

It hardly seemed likely to Alfred that one of the professors was up to something nefarious, as young Miles Duncan seemed to believe. Then again, what did he know about Wizard schools? Maybe all the staff were up to something nefarious. Professor McGonagall had said the school was old and quite prestigious, perhaps Professor Nygma simply wanted access to its library and took the job for that.

If looking into it kept the boys out of trouble, though, the pursuit didn't seem harmful. If only something would come along to engage the boy's interest outside his classes.

" _Dear Alfred,_

 _My classes continue to go well. My best class is actually broomstick flying! The coach insisted that I'm one of the best new fliers she's ever seen, she even sent me through the Advanced Obstacle Course halfway through the first semester._

 _She also said she'll be insulted if I don't try out for the school Quidditch team and then George said the same thing. Quidditch is a game played on broomsticks and it's very popular. It's a bit like rugby and polo and basketball and dodgeball all mixed together._

 _I got to see my first game this weekend and it was exciting._ _It's very physical and any bad play runs the risk of a two or three story fall. It sounds like injuries are common but the nurse can fix almost anything so no one cares. I do like flying, and if I try out then I'll get to fly a lot and even have my own broom._

 _Mom used to love watching the Knights games. Do you think she would have liked this too?_

 _Do you think I should try out?  
\- Bruce."_

A sport played on broomstick sounded fairly ridiculous to Alfred, but then again, he'd initially scoffed at the notion that Professor McGonagall had flown to their balcony back in July. Perhaps this seemed perfectly sensible to the Wizards, it was far from the most ridiculous thing he'd heard recently.

Regardless of his thoughts about the sport, Alfred heartily agreed with Bruce taking up any activity that might help him socialize with his peers and try to move forward with his life. The last thing he wanted was to find out that Bruce's dreams were once again taking him back to the night his parents died.

Unfortunately, a letter exactly like that arrived a few weeks later.

" _Dear Alfred,_

 _I think I found out why Professor Desmond is always so mean to my class in particular. I asked Talia about him, and she says he's been short with everyone since he started last year, but he seems to especially hate my class because Julian Desmond (who is in my year and house) is his son and they don't get one at all. I already suspected that, but I accidentally overheard an argument between them. Julian told me why they don't get along, but I don't think he wants me to tell anyone.  
_

 _The nightmares came back recently. It started after George, Miles, and I found an old tunnel beneath the castle. We didn't get very far before we got scared and ran back upstairs. I don't know why, but being down there felt like I was back in the alley. I keep trying to remember what Dr. Thompkins told me, about how they'll fade in a while, but it's hard. Knowing that my friends were down there with me helps a little, though._

 _Love,  
\- Bruce._ _"_

It was the first time Bruce had mentioned the nightmares that had plagued him for so long. Dreams that returned him to that alley, and morphed their attacker into a grinning monster. Alfred had hoped that moving to a place so far removed from Gotham City had given Bruce the space to get away from those dreams at last. What could have triggered them again, or would they plague the boy for the rest of his life?

It was just as well that the holiday was coming soon, perhaps then he could provide better comfort to the boy.

As the time approached for the train from Hogwarts to arrive, Alfred waited patiently at King's Cross station. He'd tried carefully testing the border between platforms nine and ten, but the wall remained quite solid. Old instincts kept him aware of the surrounding crowd, though he stood patiently and carefully didn't appear to watch anyone or anything in particular. As he observed the crowd, he noted three other groups of adults nearby.

The first, largest group were perfectly ordinary passengers coming and going about their perfectly ordinary business. "Muggles" as he'd heard Professor McGonagall refer to them. _Refer to us_ , he reminded himself. Now that he was in on the "secret" it was hard to see himself as part of the general crowd.

The opposite of them was the second group, those who came along some time after he did. These were clearly full fledged wizards and, if one knew what to look for, they stood out as much as, if not more than, the Professor had during their first encounter. To some extent, her complete confidence in her attire had offset how outlandish it was. These wizards and witches not only didn't know or care how to dress themselves in normal company, but they also drew attention to it with their obvious discomfort. Eventually, when they believed no one was watching them, members of this group would make their way to the barrier and attempt to discretely fall through it.

Then there was the third and smallest group, Alfred's group, those who were "in" but who still couldn't pass through the barrier and were instead left outside, waiting and watching. Most would, like him, try the barrier once, just to be sure, then surrender and take up a vigil nearby.

Eventually, quite without any warning that he could detect, people began to exit through the barrier. They did so in small groups, no more than three at a time, and if they expected yet more to follow they would patiently wait for the rest of their party nearby, pretending to be doing anything else. These groups were much like the second group that he'd noted before, save that they counted a number of children in their number. These were, no doubt, Master Bruce's schoolmates.

Eventually Bruce himself exited the barrier, two other boys in tow. Just as certainly, they must be George Cross and Miles Duncan, Bruce's new friends. Robin sat happily singing in his cage as Bruce pushed his baggage along. There was something very subtly off about Bruce, but it took Alfred a moment of watching him talk with the other boys to realize what it was. _He's smiling. The boy's actually smiling._ All three boys quickly calmed themselves as they approached

Alfred tried to contain his shock, and joy, as Bruce introduced his two young friends. Each one solemnly shook his hand and introduced himself, "Hello, Master George. Hello, Master Miles. It's a pleasure to finally meet both of you, I've heard so much about you from Master Bruce's letters. I'm very glad to know he has such good friends at school." Miles smiled at the recognition, though George shuffled a little nervously.

While Alfred took over the baggage trolley, Bruce bade his young friends goodbye. As they reentered the barrier to collect their parents he shouted, "We're meeting up at Diagon Alley, right?"

"Yeah! Right after Christmas!"

Though he made it clear first that Bruce should have checked with him _before_ making such a promise, on the day after Boxing Day Alfred went along to the marketplace where they'd originally purchased Bruce's school supplies. Christmas itself was fairly subdued, Alfred prepared dinner for just the two of them, with the promise that his friends could join them next year so long as he could discuss the matter with their parents first. Since he had no idea what the boy might want or need at his magic school, Alfred had decided to keep the Bruce's Christmas gift simple: a collection of myths and fables. Perhaps he might find out how much of the old stories was actually true.

So far the holiday break had gone quietly. Bruce made a few obligatory appearances at some functions, mainly to offer reassurance to those who needed it that he was healthy and hale and that his lack of such contact in the previous months was indeed simply that he attended a strict boarding school and his guardian wanted him to focus on his studies. As always, he endured quietly and patiently. He and the other boys enthusiastically exchanged letters, with Robin getting quite a workout over the break, heading out with another letter only the day after he'd returned with a response. Still, the little bird never showed any sign of exhaustion or discomfort, always eagerly announcing each completed delivery and flying off again with equal enthusiasm.

Once again, Alfred couldn't quite force his eyes to focus on the little pub until after Bruce had led them both through the front door. They waited there, Alfred sipping an unfamiliar ale, while Bruce had a pumpkin juice. Although he was technically living on Bruce's money, it still felt odd letting the lad pay for his drink, but the barkeep didn't accept pounds and the money-changer was in the marketplace beyond. Eventually a group of six people, including the two boys that Alfred had briefly met at King's Cross, entered the little pub.

The three boys greeted each other immediately, leaving the five adults to awkwardly introduce themselves.

Just as he'd encountered at the train station, wizard adults had trouble correctly identifying "Muggle" clothing to wear while out and about in London. Mr. Cross' yellow Hawaiian shirt could have been plausibly paired with nearly anything, except for the tartan kilt he'd chosen; a pair of penny loafers completed the absurdity. Nor did any part of her husband's ensemble go along with Mrs. Cross' poodle skirt and go-go boot combination. The Duncans were marginally better, they apparently purchased their costumes from a literal costume shop, and might have been completely inconspicuous on a London street a few centuries earlier. Alfred took pity the adults' obvious discomfort with their Muggle clothes, and agreed to escort the boys while their parents changed into "normal" clothes.

"All right, boys," he said after they entered the market proper, "Where shall we go first before we meet your parents again?"

To Alfred's surprise, Bruce was just as excited as his young friends to browse the joke shop. On the one hand, Alfred supposed he should try to discourage the boys from getting into any sort of mischief. On the other, he was astonished to hear Bruce seeming to take an interest in such relatively normal activities for a boy his age. _Perhaps I will owe Professor McGonagall that pie before this semester is out, after all._

It was some effort to maintain a subtle mask of disapproval as he escorted the three boys into the shop that was proudly labelled Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, a mask that instantly dropped once he was through the door.

A large portrait of an affable, redheaded young man greeted everyone who came into the shop. Literally greeted them, tossing out the names of familiar customers and making jokes about their appearance. _Of course the paintings talk_ , Alfred had mistakenly thought he was through being surprised. The figure in the painting (" _Fred Weasley, Co-Founder, 1978 - 1998,_ " according to the plaque) apparently noticed his new customer's surprise and froze mid-word, pretending to be an ordinary painting in an absurd and awkward pose. Although he quite ostentatiously kept blinking and watched Alfred move into the store.

The interior was packed, mostly with what Alfred guessed were students taking advantage of the break. After reading a few labels, Alfred decided he didn't envy teachers who had to deal with the students who armed themselves here.

Bruce was examining a display rack that held X-Ray Specs that Alfred was willing to bet actually worked, along with products like Extendable Ears and Mirror Glasses, whose function he could only guess at. As Bruce was carefully going over the package labels, he was approached by a read-headed man who bore some resemblance to the portrait at the front. _His brother perhaps?_ Alfred positioned himself at a discrete distance, so that he could monitor the exchange without interfering, his gaze carefully focusing on everything without betraying the real target of his observation.

"Hello, can I help you find anything, young man?" Before Bruce could say anything the proprietor, which he must be, looked over the items in Bruce's basket, "Wait," he started muttering something that Alfred couldn't catch, then looked over Bruce again, apparently considering something about the boy's appearance carefully. Finally, he said, "Let me guess. You just started at Hogwarts and you and your mates think the new Professor's up to something dodgy, right?"

Bruce's expression obviously answered the question, because the man laughed out loud. "Wait until I tell Hermione about this," he finally sighed and collected himself .He held out his hand for Bruce to shake, which he clearly reluctantly did, "Ron Weasley, my brother George owns the shop. I help out during the holidays."

"Bruce Wayne. What - how did you know?"

Mister Weasley smiled and tapped his nose conspiratorially, "Some things never change; there's always something funny going on at Hogwarts."

Suddenly he stood up and began rummaging through the merchandise on one shelf, "Still, if you're digging for secrets you've got a good start there. Now where did they put that thing, I told them not to hide it in the back." After another moment and then a triumphant shout, he pulled out a bundle of black cloth. "It's a Shadow Cloak, makes you look like part of the shadows." As he spoke, Mister Weasley turned the bundle of cloth. It never seemed to betray a fold or line, _As though the shadows the fabric casts blend into the fabric itself_ , Alfred realized. The proprietor went on, "It's not as good as a proper Invisibility Cloak but it's still great for sneaking around, and it's a steal at ten galleons and two sickles."

If Alfred remembered the conversion rates correctly, that was hardly a steal. Still, he'd have gladly paid far more for such a garment in his previous life. Bruce took the Cloak from Mister Weasley carefully and placed it into his basket along with his other purchases. Though he continued to examine the shelves, Bruce added nothing else and a few minutes later he reunited with his two friends as the boys brought their purchases to the counter.

After placing the small stack of coins Bruce handed him into the till, Mister Weasley leaned down over the counter, "A word of advice, Bruce: Secrets are a part of life at Hogwarts. Nobody knows everything that's hidden in the castle." With that last, cryptic remark he bid the group goodbye before turning to his next customer.

On their way out, the painting of the late Fred Weasley had changed his position but froze again the instant Alfred looked at him. Just as Alfred turned again to leave, the painting winked.

By the time they left the shop, the other adults had finished getting changed and were already making appropriately disapproving noises over how their children had chosen to spend their allowances.


	10. The Hogwarts Express

Bruce and Alfred ran into the Cross family while making their way through King's Cross Station to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Bruce bid Alfred goodbye at the barrier and Mr. and Mrs. Cross promised that they would make sure both boys were safely loaded onto the train and then return to let him know when it departed. Almost as soon as they passed through the barrier, they ran into the Duncans. Half an hour later, the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station with the three boys (and one bird) seated in a compartment near the front.

Out the window, the buildings grew smaller and more scattered before entirely giving way to rolling hills and fields. The engine was just picking up speed when the door to their compartment opened and Eddy Fyers cautiously poked in his head, "Is that seat taken? All the other compartments are full."

That seat was taken by Robin and their bags but, after some shuffling, they made space. The bags found their way to the floor while Robin's cage wound up on one of the overhead shelves. The bird himself took up a perch on Bruce's shoulder and Eddy took the now empty seat beside them.

Eddy was a bespectacled, blond boy in their year from Slytherin House. They'd met before in shared classes but Bruce hadn't ever really spoken to him before. Judging by the painful silence in the compartment, George and Miles hadn't either. All three glanced around at each other awkwardly while Eddy fidgeted with his bag between his knees.

All the lessons on etiquette and proper hosting his mother had insisted on started to trickle back. Following the commands of one particularly strict tutor, Bruce altered his body language and tried to project comfort and interest. _Start with a small compliment and establish common ground._ "Eddy and I are in the same Broomstick Class," Bruce said to George, as though he was introducing an old friend. "You're really good," he added to Eddy directly.

 _Reveal something about yourself and ask a relevant question._ "I'd never flown anything before coming to Hogwarts. Have you been flying long?"

"Oh!" Eddy paused and shuffled nervously in his seat, "No... I, uh... I didn't even know about magic at all before my letter came."

There it was, common ground. "Me neither! I didn't believe it at all until I saw Professor McGonagall turn into a cat!"

He was rewarded with a quickly stifled giggle, "It was Flitwick that came to tell me, he made my dad float 'round the ceiling a few times. That convinced us both pretty quick."

The image of tiny Professor Filtwick calmly spinning a grown man around his head, proper wand technique on display as in all his classes, brought a quick laugh from all four boys. Bruce was prevented from moving on to _ask followup questions and engage the other person_ by the arrival of the snack trolley, "Anything from the cart, dears?"

"Oh yeah!" George jumped up from his seat with a fistful of coins and sat back down with a small pile of sweets. Bruce already knew that George could happily put away the whole pile and still have room for dinner when they arrived. Miles also bought some Chocolate Frogs, but Bruce didn't have much of a sweet tooth and declined.

Eddy also passed on getting any sweets but changed his mind after watching George shove a whole Cauldron Cake in his mouth, "You know, I think I will get something after all." He stepped into the corridor to follow the trolley, pulling the door shut behind him.

George's mouth was still too full of cake to talk and Miles was too focused on comparing his new Wizard Cards, so Bruce decided to look at the mythology book Alfred had given him for Christmas. He had been too busy to do more than skim over the section headings over break. As he reached down to fetch it out of his bag, he heard an odd noise.

 _Tick-tick-tick..._

Why was Eddy's bag be ticking?

He got his answer when it exploded in his face.

Robin shrieked in alarm while Miles somehow managed to fling himself clear. George sadly regarded his third, now ruined Cauldron Cake. Bruce wiped something off his face and was assaulted by a foul smell.

 _Dung._

Bruce was covered in dung.

Eddy's bag had contained a dung bomb and it had gone off right in his face.

As Bruce was still trying to fully register this fact, the compartment door slid open again. There in the doorway, doubled over in laughter, were the Elites with Eddy in tow. Of course. They'd somehow convinced Eddy to place the bomb for them, knowing that Bruce's friends had no reason to suspect him.

Manny opened the door and carefully stepped over the threshold to avoid the dung, "Well, Bruce, do you see why we didn't want to share a compartment with you?"

"How can anyone be so messy?" Pamela wrinkled her nose. "I knew Gryffindor didn't care how slovenly its students are," Ramporatek mused beside her, "but I thought Ravenclaw had higher standards." From behind them, Nathan Jones thumped Eddy on the back and added, "You're lucky you got out when you did, new guy."

The gang's laughter redoubled at their own imagined wit. There was no missing that all five had their wands in hand, ready for any retribution that Bruce might attempt. And this time if he tried anything he'd be the one who got in trouble. All Bruce could do was slowly stand up and wipe his hands on his already sullied clothes to rid them of the worst of the mess while the Elites laughed. He glared silently as Manny backed out of the compartment and bowed, "Well then, we'll leave you to your sty."

As the Elites wandered back up the train towards their own compartment, their laughter echoed back, continuing to taunt the three boys.

"So," George said slowly, while he began removing his scat splattered shirt, "How are we going to get them back?"

Bruce knew retaliating was pointless. The Elites were already retaliating for an imagined slight and any effort to get back at them could only escalate the conflict. It had to stop somewhere, obviously. Bruce knew all these things and so he quietly pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at his jacket, " _Scourgify._ "

Nothing happened. The Elites had found dungbombs that couldn't be charmed clean. Of course they had. "Whatever we do, it's got to be something they'll never see coming."

At least their school robes had been protected, along with Alfred's book, in their bags. George and Bruce had to clean their hands and faces using their street clothes and change into their robes. They were forced to abandon the sullen clothes, their bags, and the rest of the snacks. While the two of them got as clean as possible, Miles ran ahead with Robin to look for a new place to sit. Hopefully, whoever it was that collected bags when the train reached Hogwarts would clean them before taking them to the dormitories.

As they wandered up the corridor to catch up with Miles, Bruce pondered the other half of the Elites' prank. Why had Eddy gotten involved? One of the books he'd left behind in London provided another piece of advice. From his criminology textbook, _The physical nature of a crime is always significant, of course, but motive is critical to the resolution of a case. Why has a crime been committed? What did the perpetrator stand to gain or for what perceived offense was he seeking retribution?_

Eddy had no reason to retaliate against them, so he must have seen something to gain by helping the Elites. Slytherins still had a reputation for anti-Muggle sentiment, even years after the Wizarding War, and Manny's friends had pull in Slytherin House. It made a depressing amount of sense that a first-year student, especially one from a Muggle family, would try to get in with the rest of the House by pleasing them. Or maybe joining them? Jones had called Eddy "new guy" so maybe this prank was his induction into the gang.

Eventually, Bruce and George caught up with Miles, "I've found a compartment we can sit in, Diana's the only other one there."

Diana was a dark haired girl in Gryffindor that Bruce had seen around school but never talked to. At the moment she was busy reading a magazine whose title was written in what Bruce assumed was Greek. She dropped it when he and George entered the compartment and wrinkled her nose in disgust, "What in Hera's name is that smell, George?"

To Bruce's astonishment, George bowed, "Sorry, Your High- er, sorry - Diana, we were tricked by Manny Black. He got Eddy Fyers to set off a dungbomb right under our noses." Realizing he was still bent at the waist, he abruptly fixed himself to stand at attention. Bruce had never seen anything like it from George before. For that matter, he couldn't remember seeing anything like it from anyone. He looked over at Miles, who was standing respectfully to one side, but wasn't showing anywhere near the amount of deference George was.

Diana rolled her eyes as the address, "George, would you please stop doing that? I'm not even a prefect, I'm only a year ahead of you." George somehow managed to look even more uncomfortable at ease than he had before. Diana rolled her eyes again, "All right, let's do something about the smell before it fills the compartment." From her seat, Diana leveled her wand at each boy in turn and they were bathed in the powerful scent of lavender.

The remainder of the train ride passed awkwardly. The lavender was certainly a vast improvement over the scent of dung, but Bruce wasn't enthusiastic about smelling like he'd doused himself in perfume. He did try a few times to strike up a conversation with Diana, who gave polite but brief responses, making it clear that she was more interested in her magazine than in any of George's friends. After a while he gave up with trying. George was eventually persuaded that it was okay to sit down, but looked uncomfortable the whole time. When Bruce tried asking why, he only whispered, "I know royalty when I see it." Miles shrugged, but couldn't explain their friend's behavior any better than Bruce could. So Bruce and Miles bent their heads and held a whispered conversation where they discussed increasingly infeasible plans for getting vengeance on the Elites until the announcement came that the train was about to arrive at Hogwarts Station.

When the train finally stopped at Hogwarts Station, Robin immediately leapt out the open window took off for the Owlery. Bruce could hardly blame him, it had been a rough trip for all of them. This time there were no boats, the boys followed behind the older students (attracting the a few odd looks due to the lavender) and headed up to the road leading to the castle.

Outside the station was a collection of carriages pulled by hideous, horse-like creatures. Their grey bodies were hairless and vaguely skeletal. As they passed nearby, one opened its mouth, showing off a row of very sharp teeth. The older students all ignored the creatures and climbed onto the carriages as though nothing odd was happening. Even George and Miles seemed completely unperturbed by the ugly things. This must be normal (by Hogwarts standards, anyway) so Bruce followed George and Miles onto one of the carriages, though he carefully stepped to give the beasts a wide berth.

Unfortunately, it was already occupied. Talia al'Ghul was seated alone, looking out the window back the way the boys had just come with a slightly puzzled expression. She nodded to herself as they took their seats.

Once the door was shut, the carriage took off. He couldn't see the front of their carriage, but through the window, he could see another one of the creatures take off as soon as Julian Desmond pulled his carriage door closed. There weren't any drivers on the carriages so the creatures pulling them must already know where to go.

As the carriage trundled up the path, Talia sniffed the air, "Wait, what's that smell?" She leaned closer to Miles, "Is that lavender?"

"Don't ask."

She gave the three boys another look that Bruce couldn't read, but didn't question them any further. Talia had no love for Manny Black but she was still a prefect. They couldn't discuss plans of vengeance against the Elites in front of her. Which was too bad, since she'd probably have much better ideas than anything the three of them could come up with. How did Miles think they'd get boomslang skin without getting caught and where were they supposed to brew a potion for a month?

When their carriages reached the front entrance, the creatures stopped and students filed out. While everyone else headed towards the main entrance, Talia walked around the carriage to the front. George and Miles spotted a few fellow Gryffindors, and split off to join them.

Talia held out her hand and gently brushed her fingers along the creature's flank, something that didn't seem to bother it. She was the first person he'd noticed who had acknowledged the creatures. In fact, most students seemed completely oblivious to their presence. Consumed by curiosity, Bruce waved his friends into the castle and followed her.

Talia was allowing the creature to sniff her hand when he got closer. "They're called thestrals," she said simply.

Bruce said nothing, he wasn't sure what he could say to that.

"You can see them," It wasn't a question. "Most people can't. That's why everyone else ignores them." The horse - _thestral_ \- lowered its head so she could scratch the area behind one of the horns it had where a horse's ears would be. While he couldn't read the creatures expression, Bruce thought it seemed pleased with the attention. She went on, "Your friends think the carriages move on their own. I'd imagine anyone watching right now thinks we're quite mad."

"Why - ?" Before Bruce could finish his question, before he was even sure what he was trying to ask, another carriage rolled up and a group of older students piled out. Talia gave the thestral one last affectionate pat, and headed over to join them.

"Ask Hagrid about it," she called back over her shoulder, "He takes care of them."

Then she was gone, leaving Bruce alone with the thestral. He tried to pat the creature's snout the way Talia had. It snorted, producing a sound entirely unlike a horse. That seemed as much like a dismissal as anything, so Bruce rejoined the crowd heading into the castle.

On the way into the Great Hall, Bruce barely paid attention to the snide comments the perfume smell attracted. Through dinner, he couldn't keep his mind on the food. When Louisa Ferret tried asking about his holiday, Bruce gave a distracted response that he immediately forgot. Clearly he and Talia had something in common, something they shared that the majority of Hogwarts students did not. Otherwise, why could they both see the thestrals? What could that something be?

Despite being able to clearly see him at the staff table during meals, Bruce didn't see any opportunity that night to talk to the groundskeeper alone. Somehow, he felt this was a conversation he didn't want to have in public.

When they returned to the dormitories after dinner, Bruce found his bag beside his bed with his discarded clothes cleaned and put away. The incident on the train and any thoughts of revenge had been driven out of Bruce's mind by Talia and the thestral. Already too many things had happened, and the spring term wouldn't officially begin until morning.

Bruce set Alfred's book down on the nightstand, there was no time to read it tonight. Then he pulled up the covers and indulged himself in the thought that things could only get better from here.


End file.
